I did not feel particularly happy. My hands were quite raw, and my back
had sharp pains and was stiff, and I spoke gruffly to Millington when he
suggested an automobile ride to Port Lafayette for that evening.
“No!” I said shortly. “You ought to know I can't go. I've got to kill
myself in that garden!”
But I was resolved Isobel should never see me conquered by a patch
of ground, and after dinner I went out with my spade and hoe. When my
glance fell on the garden I stopped short. I was very angry.
“Isobel?” I called sharply.
She came tripping around the house and to my side.
“Who did that?” I asked severely. I was in no mood for nonsense.
She looked at the garden. One half of it--not the half I had struggled
with, but the other 'half--had been spaded, crushed, ridged, planted,
and left in perfect condition. The small cabbage plants had been
carefully watered. Not a grain of earth was larger than a pin head. Not
a blade of grass stuck up anywhere. Isobel looked at the garden, and
then at me.
“I warned him!” she said. “I warned him you would be angry when you came
home! I told him you wanted to garden that half of the garden, too, and
that you would probably go right up and give him a piece of your mind,
but he insisted that he had a right to half the garden, and--”
“_Who_ insisted that he had a right to half my garden?” I demanded.
“Why,” said Isobel, as if surprised at the question, “Mr. Prawley did.”
“Prawley? Prawley? I don't know any Prawley!”
“Don't you know the Prawleys that moved into the flat above us?” said
Isobel. “And he is a very nice man, too,” she continued. “He was not at
all rude. He merely insisted, in a quiet way, that as he was a tenant
and as there was only one back garden, and two families in the house, he
was entitled to half the garden.”
She did not give me a chance to speak, but ran on in that vein, while
I stood and looked at the garden and, among other things, thought of my
blistered hands and my lame back.
“Well and good, Isobel,” I said at length. “I do not wish to have
anything to say to the Prawleys, nor do I wish to quarrel with them, and
since he demands half the garden you may tell him he is welcome to it.
I cannot conceal that in taking half of it away from me he has robbed
me of just that much passionate happiness, and you may tell him I do not
like the way he gardens, but I will say no more about it!”
“Oh, you dear old John!” said Isobel. “And now you shall not touch that
miserable garden with your poor sore hands. You shall just sit on the
veranda with me and let me bathe your palms with witch hazel.” Although
I assumed an air of sternness in speaking to Isobel of Mr. Prawley I
was glad to be able to humour her, for she seemed so much happier after
beginning to pretend that the Prawley family occupied the attic of our
house. Giving in to these harmless little whims of our wives does much
to make life pleasanter for them--and for us--and as long as Mr. Prawley
left me my own half of the garden I could not be discontented. One half
of that garden was really all a man should attempt to garden, no matter
how passionately fond of gardening he might be.
It is fine to be the owner of a bit of soil and to feel the joy of
possession, but it is still more delightful to be able to see one's
own garden truck springing into life after one has dug and planted and
weeded and cultivated with one's own hands. I had no greater desire in
life than to devote all my spare time to my garden, but a man must give
his health some attention, and Isobel pointed out that if I gardened but
one half of the garden I would have time to ride to Port Lafayette with
Millington in his automobile now and then, and as Port Lafayette is on
the salt water the air would be good for me.
Port Lafayette is about eleven miles from Westcote, and I had often
wished to go to Port Lafayette, but Millington is absurdly jealous. Of
course, I could have taken Isobel by train in about one half hour, or
I could walk it in two or three hours, or drive there in an hour; but
I knew that would hurt Millington's feelings. He would take it as an
insult to his automobile.
But now I told Isobel that as soon as my garden got into reasonable
shape we would go to Port Lafayette with Millington. Isobel told me
that my health was more important than radishes, and reasoned that a few
weeds in a garden were not a bad thing. Weeds, she said, grow rapidly,
while vegetables are modest and retiring things, and she considered that
a few weeds in my half of the garden might set a good example to the
vegetables.
Mr. Prawley evidently held a different view, for he did not allow a
single weed to raise its head in his half of the garden, and I told
Isobel, rather sharply, that his idea was the right one, and that I
should weed my garden every evening until there was not a weed in it.
“But, John,” she said, “I have never ridden in an automobile, and it
would be a great treat for me.”
“No doubt,” I groaned--I was weeding in my garden at the moment--“but,
treat or no treat, I am not going to have this half of the garden look
like a forest.”
“I know you enjoy it,” she began, but I silenced her.
“I am passionately fond of gardening,” I said, “and I have told you so a
million times. Now will you leave me alone to enjoy it, or won't you?”
She went into the house and left me enjoying it alone.
The very next evening, when I looked into my half of the garden, I found
it weeded and put into the best of shape, and when I hunted up Isobel,
angry indeed at having so much pleasure taken from me, she did not dare
look me in the eye.
“Isobel,” I said sharply, “what is the meaning of this?”
“John,” she said meekly, “I am afraid I am to blame. You know Mr.
Prawley does not like automobile riding--”
“I know nothing of the kind, Isobel,” I said. “I know I am passionately
fond of gardening, and that some one has robbed me of the pleasure I
have looked forward to for years: the joy of weeding my own garden on my
own land.”
“Mr. Prawley does not like automobile riding,” continued Isobel, “and
he came to me this morning and told me his health was so poor that his
doctor had told him nothing but gardening could save his life. When he
showed the garden to his doctor, the doctor told him he was not getting
half enough gardening--that he must garden twice as much. I told Mr.
Prawley he could not have your half of the garden, because you were
passionately fond of it--”
“True, Isobel!” I said, rubbing my back at the lamest spot.
“But he begged on his knees, saying that while it was only a pleasure
for you, it was life and health for him, and when his wife wept, I had
not the heart to refuse. He said he would make a fair exchange, and that
as he was an anti-vegetarian you could have all the vegetables that grew
in your own half, and all that grew in his, too.”
“Isobel,” I said, taking her hand, “this is a great, great
disappointment to me. It robs me of a pleasure of which I may say I
am passionately fond, but I cannot disown a contract made by my little
wife. Mr. Prawley may garden my half of the garden.”
I must admit that the Prawleys were ideal tenants. Not a sound came from
his floor of the house. Indeed, I did not see him nor his family at
all. But during my days in town he and Isobel seemed to have many
conversations, and she was so tender-hearted and easily moved that one
by one she let Mr. Prawley take all the outdoor work of which I may
rightly claim to be passion--to be exceedingly fond.
Mowing the lawn is one of the things in which I delight. I ardently love
pushing the lawn mower, and if, occasionally, I allowed the grass to
grow rather long, it was only because I was saving the pleasure of
cutting it, as a child saves the icing of its cake for the last sweet
bite. I remember remarking, quite in joke, one morning, that the
confounded lawn needed mowing again, and that the grass seemed to do
nothing but grow, and that I'd probably have to break my back over it
when I got home that evening. But when I reached home that evening I
suspected that Isobel must have taken my little joke as earnest, for the
lawn was nicely mown and the edges trimmed. It seemed, when I questioned
Isobel, that Mr. Prawley's doctor was not satisfied with his progress
and had assured him that lawn mowing was necessary for his complete
recovery. Thus Isobel allowed Mr. Prawley to usurp another of my
pleasures.
So, one by one, the outdoor tasks of which I am so passionately
fond were wrested from me. I allowed them to go because I thought it
necessary to humour Isobel in her pretence that some family occupied
a flat above us, and all seemed well; and we were ready to go to Port
Lafayette in Mr. Millington's automobile whenever it was ready to take
us, when one day in June I happened to notice that our grass was getting
unusually long and untidy.
“Isobel,” I said, “I have humoured Mr. Prawley, abandoning to him all
the outdoor chores of which I am so passionately fond, but if he is to
do this lawn I want him to do it, and not neglect it shamefully. I will
not have it looking like this!”
“But, John--” she began.
“I tell you, Isobel,” I said, with rising anger, “I won't have it!
I'll stand a good deal, but when I have robbed myself of my greatest
pleasure, and then see the other man neglecting it, I rebel. If this
goes on I'll forget that Mr. Prawley has bad health. I'll enjoy cutting
the lawn myself!”
“John,” said Isobel, throwing her arms about my neck, “you will be so
glad! I have good news to tell you! The Prawleys have moved away! Now
you can do all your own hoeing and mowing.”
“The Prawleys have moved away?” I gasped.
“Yes,” she said cheerfully, “and now you can garden all the garden, and
cut all the lawn and rake all the walks, and weed, and do all the things
you are so fond of doing.”
“Isobel,” I said sternly, “if I thought only of myself I would indeed be
glad. But I cannot have my little wife fearing the empty flat above her.
You must immediately hire another--er--get another family.”
“But I shall not be nervous any more, John,” she said; “and it is a
shame to deprive you of the outdoor work.”