302 



The Weekly Florists^ Review. 



Janiakv 18. 1IS98. 



THE TRAIL OF THE PIRATE. 



The night tireinun sal un the edge of 

 the potting bench, studying a back num- 

 ber of It'ci/nulils' Acws/iiipcr. After a 

 week of incessant fog, during which the 

 "old man's" opinion of the weather and 

 its effect upon the Christmas rose crop, 

 as expressed around the lionses had been 

 sufficient to keep the entire estabb'shnient 

 warm, a sudden blizzard had lowered the 

 temperature, and night firing meant 

 hard work. '1 he door opened with a 

 crash, and the men, fresh from supper, 

 streamed in, stamping the snow off their 

 boots. Marmadnke, the parrot, retreated 

 upon a pile of flower pots, keeping one 

 watchful eye upon Tommy Atkins, who 

 had threatened his life since catching the 

 disre])utable bird in the act of burying 

 his fayorile pipe in the sulphur liarrei. 

 The men settled down in easy attitudes 

 on the assortment of boxes and barrels 

 that formed their usual seats, and Tommy 

 reached out towards the fireman, remark- 

 ing: "Give us 'old o' that there paper, 

 and let's see if some 'un aint died and 

 left me a fortune or somethink. Klessed 

 if 'ere isn't a yarn about some chap as 

 dug up a box o' gold, down along shore. 

 Pirates, I s'pose, or that there Spanish 

 Harmady, or somethink." 



"I once made somethink out of a pirate 

 myself," observed Jaggs, who had pos- 

 sessed himself of the fireman's pipe, 

 which he was now filling witli the Scotch 

 propagator's tobacco. "Can't none o' 

 you chaps offer me a light for mv pipe?" 



" I reckon as the pirate business would 

 be right in your line," observed Tommy 

 .\tkins, who was .softly whistling "Mrs. 

 'Enry 'Awkins," while he dissected a 

 brown jean apron for the purpose of 

 making some needed repairs to a suit of 

 blue jean overalls. 



" Confound you, that's my apron," 

 wrathfully interjected the horticultural 

 graduate. 



" Never mind, old chap," was the 

 soothing response. "There's 'caps o' 

 sackin' lyin' around, as '11 be lots more 

 perfessional than this 'ere nussmaid's 

 apron as you've been wearin'. What was 

 you sayin' about pirates. Jaggs?" 



The horticultural graduate retreated to 

 the sphagnum barrel, where he sat study- 

 ing an experiment station report with an 

 air of ostentatious culture. He glowered 

 angrily at Jaggs, who. after advising him 

 in a tone of paternal affection to "drop 

 that there Laura Jean Libbey truck and 

 read somethink as '11 elevate yer mind a 

 bit," began to discourse upon the subject 

 of pirates. 



" I reckon rome o' you chaps may 

 remember the old Blooinfield place dowii 

 in Jersey? Old man Seden sent me there 

 when I first come to this bloomin' 

 country. They wanted a chap as could 

 show- 'em how to grow orchids. They 

 say as it was a fine chance for a chap .as 

 wanted to get along, and wages wasn't no 

 object. They wasn't neither, because 

 there wasn't nothink a chap could spend 

 'em on within ten miles. .\ny o' you 

 chaps know that country?" 



There was a momentary pause, broken 

 only b\- JIarmaduke, who appeared to be 

 talking in his sleep, and Jaggs continued: 



"The greenhouses wasn't more than 

 half a mile from the bay, and some- 

 wheres down that bay they say as one o' 

 them bloomin' pirates as used to ,go 

 picknickin' around doin' a salt water 

 holdup has buried his whole lay-out. 

 The folks sa}- as the old chap buries one 

 o' the men along of the stuff to look 

 after it. not takin' any stock in savin's 

 banks, and as he gets it in the neck from 

 a man-o'-war the very next time he tries 



one o' his little excursions, he don't get 

 a chance to dig it up." 



"And I suppose you believed that yarn 

 and tried your luck at digging," ob- 

 served the horticultural graduate with an 

 air of friendly pity. 



Jaggs filled up his pipe again, and con- 

 tinued, ignoring the last speaker with 

 wellbred composure. 



"There was lots o' chaps rockiu' arcSund 

 the shore as tries diggin', but mostl)- they 

 gets scared off, thinkin' as some o' they 

 pirates doesn t stay buried, and goes 

 prowlin' around nights. Then the yellow 

 journals has a shy at it, tellin' about casks 

 of gold as the piners along shore is diggin' 

 up, and a lot o' chaps from the city comes 

 sneakin' around nights, exercisin' with 

 shovels down on the sand. One night I was. 

 on duty, I see a light down bj' the creek, 

 and I says to myself 'There's another o' 

 they amerter pirates,' and I thinks as I 

 might give 'em a little song-and-dance on 

 my own hook. So 1 picks up a few things 

 as I think may come in handy, and then 

 me and Rags, the boss's bull terrier, strolls 

 down to the shore. Pretty soon I hears 

 the pick and shovel ,goin', and then I just 

 drift into a clump o' scrub cedars, feelin' 

 as I hadn't better break into the chorus 

 till I gets my cue. There was three chaps 

 diggin', and one as was liossin' the job, 

 with a little terrier sittin' by, lookin' a.s 

 though he hadn't much opinion o' the 

 outfit. I didn't mean to make my deboo 

 for a while, but bein' cramped a bit from 

 standin' I drops a piece o' chain as 1 was 

 carryin'. You see the old pirate was 

 hanged in chains, they say. The chaps 

 as was diggin' say, 'What's that?' but no 

 one .says a word, and they go right on, 

 when Rags took a notion to go on and 

 take in the show himself. You see when 

 I start out, I thinks as a brindle bull ter- 

 rier don't show up agen the landscape 

 after dark, so I hunts up the old man's 

 phosphorous bottle — what he uses to kill 

 rats with— and touches up Rags' s complex- 

 ion. I, or', you never see such an .\urory 

 Borealis o' a dog ! The chaps as was dig- 

 gin' gives one look at Rags, and I reckon 

 as phosphorescent dogs wasn't much in 

 their line; tlien I jollied 'em a bit by 

 clankin' my chain and givin' a few 

 groans and the whole outfit makes a bee- 

 line for their boat. I never see such 

 sprintin.' Before they know where they 

 was at, they was pnllin' down stream, and 

 me and Rags was gatheriu' in a few 

 souvinirs. Their overcoats was pretty 

 good and so was their shovels, but their 

 lunch wasn't what I expected — mostly 

 cheese sandwiches — and a flask as was in 

 one o' the overcoat pockets hadn't noth- 

 ink in it but raspberry vinegar — a regular 

 con game. I drink about half of it afore 

 I find out what it was. Rags eat most o' 

 the sandwiches, but then he was that 

 ])roud of his make-up that he'd eat 

 clinkers or experiment station reports. I 

 reckon as the chaps as was diggin' was 

 .some o' they yellow journalists; they say 

 in some o' they Sunday papers how the 

 pirate's grave was guarded by a fiery lion 

 fourteen feet tall, and I reckon that was 

 Rags. ' 



"I wonder how much of that yarn Jaggs 

 expects us to believe," observed the 

 horticultural graduate, pleasantly. 



"Well, old chap," observed Jaggs 



