not yet understand.

Therefore I perceived or suspected, at an early date, that orchid
culture is, as one may say, the natural province of an intelligent and
enthusiastic amateur who has not the technical skill required for
growing common plants. For it is brain-work--the other mechanical. But I
shared the popular notion--which seems so very absurd now--that they are
costly both to purchase and to keep: shared it so ingenuously that I
never thought to ask myself how or why they could be more expensive,
after the first outlay, than azaleas or gardenias. And meanwhile I was
laboriously and impatiently gathering some comprehension of the ordinary
plants. It was accident which broke the spell of ignorance. Visiting
Stevens' Auction Rooms one day to buy bulbs, I saw a _Cattleya Mossiæ_,
in bloom, which had not found a purchaser at the last orchid sale. A
lucky impulse tempted me to ask the price. "Four shillings," said the
invaluable Charles. I could not believe it--there must be a mistake: as
if Charles ever made a mistake in his life! When he repeated the price,
however, I seized that precious Cattleya, slapped down the money, and
fled with it along King Street, fearing pursuit. Since no one followed,
and Messrs. Stevens did not write within the next few days reclaiming
my treasure, I pondered the incident calmly. Perhaps they had been
selling bankrupt stock, and perhaps they often do so. Presently I
returned.

"Charles!" I said, "you sold me a _Cattleya Mossiæ_ the other day."

Charles, in shirt-sleeves of course, was analyzing and summing up half a
hundred loose sheets of figures, as calm and sure as a calculating
machine. "I know I did, sir," he replied, cheerfully.