The Green Dolphin
“Ain’t you noticed it?”
“I’ve noticed he was extra polite to her, if that’s what you mean.”
“He’s too polite. ’Tain’t natural for him to be that way. He never
jokes with her or calls her by her first name, same’s the rest of us
do--at least not to her face. Sometimes I wonder has he took a slant
against her.”
Althea smiled down at the strand she was weaving.
“I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you,” said she, soothingly.
“Everybody can’t take a fancy to everybody else in the world. Besides,
he’s no more stilted an’ odd with her than she is with him,” and then
she laughed a strange, enigmatical laugh.
“But ’Becca’s such a good soul,” persisted the man, still unsatisfied.
“I don’t see how Lemmy can help takin’ to her. What on earth can he
find in her to dislike? I can’t for the life of me make it out. You
don’t s’pose he’s miffed an’ jealous because of our havin’ her here an’
makin’ so much of her, do you?”
“Mebbe.”
“Wal’, I call it very silly of him an’ I shall tell him so.”
“Now, Asaph, you let Lemmy alone,” commanded his wife with sudden
spirit. “Don’t you go meddlin’ with him. You can’t talk people into
likin’ others.”
“N--o. No, I reckon you can’t. Still--”
“You know you can’t. You’re far more likely to drive ’em the other way.”
“P’raps you’re right.”
“Of course I am,” came positively from the woman. “You just keep your
mouth shut an’ don’t go botherin’ with what don’t concern you.”
“But Lemmy’s affairs do concern me.”
“Possibly--some of them. But there’s others that don’t. Rebecca
Crosby’s one. Take my advice an’ hold your tongue regardin’ her.”
“I will if you say so,” mumbled Asaph. “Only I don’t see why--”
“You don’t need to,” Althea retorted and laughed again.
Accordingly Asaph held his peace, and having unloaded this quandary
upon his better half’s trustworthy intellect, he dismissed the puzzle
from his mind. Even if he had not he would doubtless soon have
forgotten it, for there were times when the obstruction estranging
Lemmy and Rebecca seemed to disappear altogether and leave them as
merry and unrestrained as they had been at first.
On such an evening, the aftermath of a particularly felicitous day,
Asaph and his comrade chanced to be dallying in the garden while the
women sat nearby, silent in the quiet and coolness of the long summer
twilight.
“Can’t you step over an’ have a look at my dahlias, Asaph? They’re
comin’ on fine.”
“Not tonight, Lemmy. I’m trackin’ down white grubs. They’ve gnawed away
the roots of three of my best campanulas, drat ’em!”
“The pests! Ain’t that always the way?” commiserated the Captain.
“There’s no comfort raisin’ flowers. When you ain’t sprayin’ your roses
for aphids or black spot you’re chasin’ cut-worms, red spiders, or
some other hectorin’ critter. There’s always some fly in the ointment.
I can’t for the life of me ever recall just settin’ down to enjoy in
peace an’ quiet what I’ve planted. No sooner do I get comfortable on
the steps an’ think how pleasant the breeze is than I spy a rambler
that needs trainin’ up; a vine that wants prunin’; or some corner
that’s smothered in weeds. There’s no such thing as rest. Seem’s if a
garden, like the Evil One, was always steppin’ on your heels.”
“Still, for all your grumblin’ you wouldn’t be without one,” responded
Asaph, elbow deep in dirt.
“You bet I wouldn’t,” was the prompt reply. “Much as it plagues me I’d
be uneasy as the Wanderin’ Jew were I without flowers. Growin’ things
are rare company. My dahlias now--from the day I set ’em out I’ve had
no end of pleasure watchin’ ’em. Mebbe I was foolish to squander so
much money on ’em. Folks would say so. Nevertheless, I figger to get
full returns for every penny I’ve put into ’em. Not only shall I enjoy
the blossoms when they come, but this fall every plant oughter yield at
least three good tubers. I’ll give you some of ’em, Asaph.”
“I’ll buy ’em of you.”
“You will! Well, I’d like to see you do it,” protested Lemmy
indignantly. “Ain’t you given me slips without number? Why, those
hybrid delphiniums were worth a generous batch of dahlias. Furthermore,
I like the fun of distributin’ my wares to my neighbors. That’s half
the satisfaction of raisin’ flowers. No-siree! You’ll buy no bulbs of
me. In the autumn, though, you shall have as many as you can plant.”
“Now, Lemuel Gill, don’t you go givin’ Asaph more dahlia bulbs,” called
Althea, who had overheard the offer. “He ain’t goin’ to have one more’n
he’s got already. Those have caused trouble enough.”
“What do you mean--trouble?”
“Ain’t we been tendin’ ’em all winter like we would a family of
children--keepin’ ’em warm; keepin’ ’em moist; keepin’ ’em dry? My
soul! We’ve tugged them boxes from one end of the cellar to the other
over an’ over again. I could have brought up half a dozen babies in the
time I’ve spent haulin’ them bulbs round.”
“Oh, come, come, Althea! ’Twarn’t so bad as all that,” contradicted her
husband, grinning.
“It was every bit as bad. You can’t tell me anything about dahlias.
Ignorant as I am about flowers, that’s one branch of horticulture I’m
primed on.”
“How come you to be so up on that?” asked Rebecca Crosby.
“I’ve had experience. Sister Sarah’s husband went to the Barnstable
fair once an’ got so addle-pated lookin’ at the exhibits nothin’ would
do but he must bring home a dozen prize dahlia bulbs. Some man coaxed
him into the belief he could raise blooms as big without turnin’ over
his hand. He learned better.” She gave a short, disagreeable laugh.
“Couldn’t he make ’em grow?” inquired Rebecca, with interest.
“Make ’em grow! Oh, they grew fast enough,” Althea sniffed.
“Then what was the matter?”
“There wouldn’t ’a’ been any matter, I s’pose, if Sarah, Jabez, an’
the rest had had nothin’ to do in life but tend those dahlias; but
unfortunately they had.”
“Pooh, pooh, Althea! Nonsense! Dahlias ain’t the trouble all that comes
to,” objected Lemuel Gill, who had drawn near and seated himself on the
steps.
“Maybe they ain’t. Still, I guess I know what happened to my own kith
an’ kin,” was the tart retort.
“What did happen?” queried Lemmy, all meekness.
“Well, as I said, Jabez fetched home them bulbs an’ all winter long
had Sarah totin’ ’em from Dan to Beersheba, same’s Asaph’s had me.
First they’d start wizzlin’ up an’ Jabez would spray ’em; then they’d
go to moldin’. He had ’em covered with burlap, an’ covered with
newspapers, an’ did everythin’ but sit an’ fan ’em. Sarah said she was
never so thankful in all her born days as when spring came an’ ’twas
time to put the pesky things into the ground.”
“Mercy! I’d no idea dahlias were that much bother,” asserted Miss
Crosby.
“Accordin’ to Lemmy’s tell they ain’t,” was the scathing answer. “His
neither dry up nor rot.”
“Wal’, I could hardly say that,” Lemuel was forced to own.
“You mean you have to be fussin’ with ’em durin’ cold weather same’s
Althea says?” inquired Rebecca.
“I do have to kinder keep an eye on ’em,” confessed the discomfited
Captain.
“You do? You surprise me,” taunted Althea. “I gathered from what you
said you never had to take a second look at ’em.”
“There, there, Althea,” Asaph put in, “Lemmy means that once they’re in
the ground they’re little care.”
“He does, does he? Well, I beg to differ from him. Little care! They’re
care from start to finish. To begin with, puttin’ ’em in the ground’s
a care--an’ there’s where Jabez imposed on poor Sarah somethin’
shameful. He got her to help him dig the holes to plant ’em in; search
out a pole for each one; an’ print a tag so’st its name could be posted
above it like a headstone. The poles had to be set in the ground
before the tubers were planted, he said, because if you drove ’em down
afterward you were liable to drive ’em through the bulbs. Poor trustin’
Sarah! So innocent was she an’ so anxious to see the earth close over
them sprouts, that she worked like a beaver helpin’ Jabez chop the
poles an’ label ’em. She’d ’a’ done anythin’ he asked, be it what it
might, to be clear of them roots; she told me so herself. Lemmy, of
course, makes nothin’ of strippin’ poles an’ settin’ ’em out; or mebbe
his bulbs don’t have to have any.”
“Yes, they do,” the little man growled.
“Oh! Well, you make terrible light of gettin’ ’em in place.”
“I didn’t say dahlia plantin’ was no work.” Signs of a rising storm
were apparent in the tone.
“If the plantin’ was all, I’d not be dwellin’ on it,” came instantly
from Althea. “It’s the unplantin’ that’s the trouble--as poor, deluded
Sarah learned to her sorrow. That’s where Jabez tricked her. All the
time she was workin’ an’ exultin’ at gettin’ them tubers into the
ground, he knew perfectly well that in the fall they’d got to come up
again; but Sarah didn’t. She slaved away steadyin’ the poles, writin’
the tags, an’ even cultivatin’ the wretched plants all summer.”
“Did they blossom well?” piped Lemuel, his irritation submerged for the
moment in horticultural sympathy.
“Yes. The blossoms warn’t nowhere near the measurement, though, Jabez
had said they’d be. He had ’em big as the top of a barrel at first;
afterwards he backed down to a water pail; then gradually he reduced
’em to dinner plate size, an’ that was pretty near the dimensions they
turned out to be. But they were handsome enough to make Sarah feel
they’d been worth the trouble, an’ she was just beginnin’ to think that
mebbe after all she was goin’ to get a sight of pleasure out of ’em,
when one day late in the autumn Jabez remarked kinder casual:
“‘Well, Sarah, it’s about time, I reckon, we were diggin’ the dahlias.’
“You never saw a more flabbergasted individual in your life. I happened
to be there at the time an’ the sight of Sarah’s face was a study.
“‘What do you mean?’ stammered she.
“‘The dahlias have got to come up before the frost, you know,’ replied
Jabez, offhand as could be.
“‘Roots an’ all?’ gasped Sarah.
“‘Of course.’
“‘You--you mean we’ve got to--’ she eyed him stupid as a dogfish.
“‘We have to take in bulbs, poles, an’ everythin,’ Jabez answered.
“‘Oh,’ was all she said. I guess ’twas all she was capable of utterin’,
poor soul!
“Well, they got ’em in, carted ’em to the cellar, an’ nursed ’em
through the cold weather same’s I told you. Then in the spring, when
Sarah was prayin’ for strength to plant ’em again, Jabez began cuttin’
’em up, explainin’ how the tubers had multiplied an’ how he now had
three or four times as many as he’d had the season before. He seemed
tickled to death an’ proud as a peacock at the thought. But Sarah
warn’t. It meant cuttin’ three times the number of poles; writin’ three
times the number of labels; diggin’ treble the number of holes. She was
clean discouraged; an’ when she thought how they’d all have to be dug
up again in the fall, she was more discouraged still. Likely Lemmy’s
dahlias don’t increase this way--”
“They do!”
“There, there, Lemmy, don’t go gettin’ irritated,” soothed Asaph.
“Althea’s only jokin’. Let him alone, can’t you, Althea? He’s gettin’
all riled up.”
“Well, anyhow, Jabez’s dahlias went on accumulatin’ that way,”
continued Althea serenely, “till poor Sarah was at her wit’s end.
Every fall there were more an’ more of ’em, an’ there was no such
thing as coaxin’ Jabez to give one away. He always had some reason
why he must keep ’em. The red ones sorter matched the pew cushions
an’ looked good in church; the yaller ones cheered up the house; the
white ones couldn’t be equalled for weddin’s an’ funerals. As for the
pink ones--he liked those best of all, an’ certainly wouldn’t think of
givin’ those away on any account.
“So finally one day when the cellar was bulgin’ with boxes an’ barrels
of bulbs, an’ they’d overflowed till every shelf in the cold closet