went on, "or do you train them on twigs? What would be the diameter
of your finest specimen?" He continued in doubt. I adopted a
conversational manner. "I suppose you'll be potting off soon? You
must get very fond of your mushrooms. I think one always gets fond of
anything which demands one's whole care and attention. I wonder if I
might have a peep at your _protégés_?"

I edged towards the door of one of the sheds, but he made no attempt
to accompany me. Instead he put his hands to his mouth and shouted,
"Hi, maister!"

Mr. Diggles promptly responded to the summons. There was no eluding
him. I put my note-book out of sight and inquired if he could oblige
me with a pound of fresh-culled mushrooms. He could, and he did. I
paid him four-and-sixpence for them, the control price presumably,
but he gave me no invitation to view the growing crops. I retraced
my steps without having collected even an opening paragraph for "A
Fortune in Fungus."

The next day found me again near the sheds. Mr. Diggles was nowhere
in sight. I approached unobtrusively through the hedge and accosted a
small boy.

"Hulloa, my little man," I said, "what is your department in this
hive of industry? You weed the mushrooms, perhaps, or prune them?" He
seemed shy and offered no answer. "Perhaps you hoe between the plants
or syringe them with insecticide?"

Still I could not win his confidence, so I tried pressing sixpence
into his palm. "Between ourselves, what are the weekly takings?" I