MY' LADY DAHLIA 161 



that was the stalk that brought to light the new dahlia. 

 As dahlia collectors have as little conscience as curio 

 fanatics, it would not have been safe to make the pros- 

 pects public lest thieves come at night, and inquisitive 

 eyes peer over the fence by day. 



Friend K. assures the commonplace gardeners who are 

 not dahlia experts that they have brought him good for- 

 tune. His dahlias afford him an outlet for his nervous 

 energy. They are something to think about not argued 

 over in the daily paper, and from the hour of putting his 

 roots in the earth, labeling and bracing the plants to 

 stakes, he has a source of interest dependent only upon 

 the sunshine and rain, as, fortunately, few pests come the 

 way of his dahlias. 



Since the birth of his passion he has a score of corres- 

 pondents who, like himself, are absorbed in dahlia cul- 

 ture, who keep log books and records of pedigrees, who 

 enter them at county fairs, and know every perfect dahlia 

 which is in the family tree of the aristocracy written down 

 in catalogues. Whenever there is a flurry in the busi- 

 ness world down town, Friend K. gets out his dahlia cata- 

 logues if it is winter, or goes to the garden if it is summer. 



The worried lines on his forehead give place to others 

 of keen interest and hopefulness as he makes notes in the 

 log book of triumphs in color and hints for another season, 

 and the next morning he questions the truthfulness of 

 stock reports, looks at the market with optimism, and cuts 



