"IT'S a bootiful day again, Sir," said my gardener, James, looking
in at the study window.
"Bootiful, James, bootiful," I said, as I went on with my work.
"You might almost say as spring was here at last, like."
"Cross your fingers quickly, James, and touch wood. Look here, I'll
be out in a minute and give you some orders, but I'm very busy just
now."
"Thought praps you'd like to know there's eleven crocuses in the
front garden."
"Then send them away--we've got nothing for them."
"Crocuses," shouted James.