"I say, you are spoofing."
"Not at all—in proper localities, of course, you must understand me. The growth is necessarily very rapid. On rough ground it is sometimes necessary to place wheels or rollers beneath the pumpkins."
"What is that for?"
"To prevent their being worn out. You see the vines grow so fast that they drag the pumpkins about."
Even Sir Edgar's vacuous countenance took on an expression of derisive incredulity.
"You'll have to show me that, you know," said he.
"It is, unfortunately, the wrong time of year for pumpkins," replied Moore.
"Haw, haw!" cackled Sir Edgar triumphantly.
"Darn fool!" muttered Corbell, in reference to Frank Moore, "if he doesn't watch his step he'll spoil the whole game!" He tried to catch Frank's eye.
But that saturnine individual knew his way about.
"Well," he drawled argumentatively, "there's our asparagus. You know what asparagus is like, ordinarily. Out here, in localities where the current is strong, it grows to quite extraordinary size—quite extraordinary, I assure you. It has to be cut down with an axe and trucked to the railroad; and must be transported on flat cars."
"You'll have to show me that, you know," retorted Sir Edgar. This seemed to have been an effective bit of repartee before.
"Certainly," agreed Frank, unexpectedly. "Come along."
He slouched out to the veranda, followed curiously by all the Society and its Benefactor. Alongside the garden walk, where it had been stowed awaiting transportation to the dump heap, lay a stalk of the century plant. As most people now know this central stalk, before it branches into flower, shoots up to a height of ten to twenty feet, and almost exactly resembles a stalk of fat asparagus. But very few people knew it then. Sir Edgar gazed on this monstrosity with open mouth.
"Bah Jove, I'd never have believed it!" he gasped. "I should like to obtain a photograph!"
"If you will promise to publish it in your book," suggested
