August, 1919 
Slower (Brower 
77 
| MRS. AUSTIN’S TALKS | 
j [Written expressly for The Flower Grower. ] 
One Vacation. 
T^ONNIE, in pink morn- 
1— ^ ing dress and white 
1 J slippers, came trip- 
ping down the steps 
just as the express mes- 
senger drove out of the yard 
with the last of the previous 
day’s cut of Gladioli. Her 
father was a leading florist 
of the town, which aspired 
{*■' . j 
and I, have a little land in 
the open where we have a 
garden and some Gladioli. 
We haven’t much land, just 
a little, and an agent for a 
nursery company told us 
that we could make money 
growing Gladioli. He told 
us of a variety named 
America, that he said was 
sure to sell, and he said 
many years had grown Gladioli for 
the wholesale trade, shipping in quan- 
tity to large cities. It was the height 
of the Gladiolus season and markets 
were glutted, but these were the new 
modern varieties and found ready sale. 
She had helped to cut and carry, count 
and pack, the large shipment that had 
been started on its all night journey to 
a distant city, finishing with the morn- 
ing’s consignment to a nearby town. 
She watched the driver with some dis- 
may as he chirped and pulled the reins 
in a series of jerks to which the horse 
sleepily responded by flicking his ears. 
It was plain that neither the horse or 
driver would worry whether the boxes 
marked - Cut Flowers — Perishable— No 
Delay, were in time for the train or 
not. Express packages were all alike 
to them. “ And I hurried so,” she 
murmured, then turning quickly ex- 
claimed, “Now for my vacation. No 
more cutting Gladioli for me this 
month, tedious old things.” Then added 
half apologetically, “but O, so lovely.” 
Thoughts of vacation day pleasures 
were in her mind, and catching up a 
slender graceful Gladiolus spike loaded 
with open blooms, she held it coquet- 
ishly over head and danced across the 
emerald lawn, humming, “ We’ll dance 
all night until broad daylight,” then 
more soberly, “ I wonder how and 
where I can best spend my vacation.” 
Shrieks of terror from the Sultan of 
the chicken-yard and his frightened 
harem, mingled with the cluttering of 
a great dirigible balloon sailing lei- 
surely and low, and she recognized the 
voice of a friend in the teasing invita- 
tion to “Come up and have a ride.” 
As she waved her bit of kerchief in re- 
ply, the monster rose high, circled the 
town, showing, by many maneuvers, 
the control of a master hand, then 
settling low, became almost motion- 
less over one pretty home from whose 
kitchen door the mother, with glisten- 
ing eyes, watched the driver in the 
sky. 
“ Isn’t it wonderful ! I never saw one 
before,” and Bonnie, startled at the 
sound of a strange voice at her elbow, 
turned and beheld a little middle aged 
woman, with a sweet expressive face 
lighted by large velvety black eyes. 
In answer to her questioning surprise, 
the stranger explained, “ I heard about 
your Gladioli and came to ask you to 
tell me about them.” “ Where did you 
come from ?” asked Bonnie, recovering 
her voice. “ I live in the woods, sev- 
eral miles from here, and we, my sister 
at 
such high prices that we could easily 
buy grain for our horse and cow, and 
have money to put in the bank ; that 
it was easy to sell the flowers, and 
bulbs, too. They are blooming now 
and we do not know how to sell them. 
There are other kinds mixed with the 
America that he said we might have 
free.” Bonnie thought of her vacation. 
“ It would be necessary for me to see 
your Gladioli growing,” then hesitat- 
ingly, “I am sorry, but fear that I cannot 
help you because I am going away.” 
The little stranger started to go, then 
turned to say goodby, and Bonnie saw 
her face. It had paled, her eyes were 
misty with tears and lips quivering. 
“ Does it mean so much to you ?” asked 
Bonnie quickly. She nodded, then 
said, “It means everything to me, for 
I have used all my savings to buy the 
bulbs.” “ Wait a minute,” said Bon- 
nie, and rushed into the house. “Moth- 
er, this little woman out here has spent 
every cent she has for Gladioli and 
doesn’t know what to do with them. 
I think I had better try to help her a 
little and start on my vacation a day 
later. It will mean a day in the woods, 
and that will surely be nice.” 
Leaving the street car and following 
a path through a wood thick with un- 
derbrush, a walk of nearly a mile 
brought them to the little home. “How 
beautiful!” exclaimed Bonnie, for the 
house covered with vines was a verit- 
able bower of beauty, and, birds nest- 
ing among the vines were as much at 
home as the little woman herself. In- 
side, it was neat, cool and cosy. De- 
cayed stumps and logs were covered 
with trailing nasturtiums and other 
vines, and wild grape vines festooned 
nearby trees. While the little woman 
prepared dinner, Bonnie visited the 
Gladiolus patch in the open. “What a 
jumble! How could anyone have sold 
her such a mixture as that for America. 
It’s the same as stealing. I will help 
her if it takes all my vacation.” Later 
they went to the patch together and 
Bonnie told her that it was best to dig 
out and destroy the inferior odds and 
ends of varieties that were mixed in 
with the Americas. “It is called rogu- 
ing,” she explained, “and even choice 
varieties are rogues when out of place. 
A few of those mixed in here are good so 
we will stake and mark them carefully 
for they will give you a little beginning 
in those varieties.” With trowels they 
begun the roguing, digging each out, 
being careful to leave no bulblets. 
“ It’s a good thing that your bulbs are 
all blooming size,” said Bonnie. “ We 
could never get pure stock from bulb- 
lets. It would be better to throw them 
away. A variety must be pure to sell. 
Now when you dig these Glads, take 
out the ones we have marked first. 
Label them carefully and put them 
where they cannot become mixed in 
storage or when you are rooting bulbs,” 
and, as the little woman looked in- 
quiringly, she continued, “ yes, the 
rooting is no small job, but maybe I 
can come and help you.” 
The flowers had only well begun 
blooming and each morning brought 
new rogues. “There are some good sel- 
lers among your rogues. This large 
creamy one is Schwaben. It originated in 
Germany, and here is Mrs. Frank Pendle- 
ton, Jr. This, and this, are Gretchen Zang 
and Evelyn Kirlland, both valuable for 
florists’ use and named for two little 
Ohio girls. Their names and the face 
of one of them has gone around the 
world. This beautiful mauve variety 
is Herada and was named for a dear old 
lady whom nearly every one in her com- 
munity calls Aunt Rae. Your flowers 
are coming nicely now. You see it is 
necessary to have enough of a kind for 
a bunch which is sold as 25 spikes, but 
it is better to make it 27 which al- 
lows for unexpected damage in transit, 
and then,” she added smilingly, “ it is 
nice to do better by them than they 
expect you to. I think we will try to 
get some shipping boxes soon now. 
We use orange boxes.” “O, I am sure 
I saw them,” interrupted the little wo- 
man. “ I met the express man soon 
after he left your place. I thought 
the green tips looked like Gladioli.” 
“ There are many kinds of shipping 
packages,” said Bonnie, “ but I believe 
the orange box would be the most con- 
venient for you. You can get them 
from the nearest grocer for from three 
to five cents each, and with some strips 
| in. square nailed in each corner to 
extend the height according to the 
length of the spike. You can do it 
yourself if you can use a hammer. 
Nail them in such a way that they will 
flare a little at the sides and then nail 
a light strip of lath around the top. 
Line the box with papers like you saw 
ours. Tie the spikes in bunches, 27 
you know, and wrap each bunch also 
in paper. Stand them on end and pack 
closely. I love to do it.” She had for- 
gotten that only a few days before she 
had pronounced it tedious work. 
“ Hello here,” and Bonnie’s father 
stood before them. “ O, father, how 
glad I am to see you and we need you 
so much, too. We want boxes and ” — 
“ but what about that vacation of 
yours,” asked father. “I had forgotten 
it completely,” replied Bonnie, then ex- 
claimed excitedly, “ I have it, we will 
go to the exhibition of the American 
Gladiolus Society and take her and her 
flowers with us !” 
Mrs. A. H. Austin. 
A subscriber wants information 
about propagation, harvesting, storing, 
etc., of theTritoma. Also information 
about the new early flowering Tritoma 
Hybrids. 
