"I'd like to know," he asked, "if this is to be one of my regular jobs
for the future? Was I engaged to 'unt smells all day? It's 'ard-damn
'ard. I'm a gardener, I am; not a blood-'ound."

But Mr. Marrapit had passed on.

"Damn 'ard," Mr. Fletcher repeated; drew the snail from his pocket;
plunged to consolation.



V.

A short distance down the garden Mr. Marrapit himself discovered the
source of the smell that had offended him. Bending to the left he came
full upon it where it uprose from a secluded patch of turf: from the
remains of a pipe there mounted steadily through the still air a thin
wisp of smoke.

Outraged, Mr. Marrapit stared; fuming, turned upon the step that
sounded on the path behind him.

The slim and tall young man who approached was that nephew George,
whose coming into Mr. Marrapit's household had considerably disturbed
Mr. Marrapit's peace. Orphaned by the death of his mother, George had
gone into the guardianship of his uncle while in his middle teens. The
responsibility had been thrust upon Mr. Marrapit by his sister. Vainly
he had writhed and twisted in fretful protest; she shackled him to her
desire by tearful and unceasing entreaty. Vainly he urged that his