his house, and show me some insignificant seedling, expecting me to give at least a column of glowing description to it. Again some would call my especial attention to a Tomato plant, considering it meritorious enough to deserve a large photograph on the first page, with a two-column description in the body of the journal.
One incident in particular comes back to me. It happened in a small town in the interior of Ohio. The florist on whom I called, a man of about forty-five, short and stocky of build, not especially prepossessing in appearance, with an accent that might have been a cross between Irish and Swedish, upon being told who I was immediately proceeded to address me by the name of "Mr. Homo."
"And you are just the man I wanted to see," he said.
From the tone of his voice I gathered that my visit afforded him some pleasure, and that he intended to avail himself of my services in some manner.
"Now let me show you something," he went on.
"I am always glad to see things," I replied.
And thereupon he ushered me into a little rickety greenhouse, the rafters of which were badly in need of replacement, and proceeded to show me a geranium which in his opinion was bound to make a mark and put all other Geraniums out of existence. I confess I never was and am not today, a Geranium specialist. Nevertheless, little as I knew about Geraniums, I could readily see that the man was too enthusiastic about his product, and that the "special merit" that placed it above all other Geraniums was not in the least in evidence in that variety. If I remember rightly, it was cerise color, rather dull, single, of no vigorous growth, and altogether anything but attractive.
"And what is the special merit about it?" I inquired.
"Why, can't you see?" he answered in a tone of surprise. "Look at the color! Look at the habit! It's a wonder, I tell you—it's a wonder! Blooms all the time. If that Geranium was in the hands of some big fellow he could make a fortune of it in no time. Of course, I am a small man, not known."
"Well and good," I said. "But what can I do about it to help you?"
"You can do a lot," he said. "Give it a good write-up in the paper, and let the trade know what a good Geranium means. You are handling Geraniums, I understand; what would be your commission?"
I never thought of that. Disregarding my lack of response, he proceeded to offer me liberal returns. He would pay me fifteen per cent, commission on all sales I made, and for my "write-up," especially if it were a good one, he would reward me with two or three dollars.
"Glad you came, glad you came!" he concluded, cheerily.
The pleasure, however, was one-sided, for such undertakings never appealed to me. I broached my goods, by way of changing the subject, and was rewarded by selling him a few packages of seeds amounting to less than a dollar.
At another time, I came across a man who was in possession of a "gem" in the form of a Carnation seedling.
"You are just in time, Mr. Correspondent," he greeted me.
"An order, sure," I thought to myself. "I am always glad to be on time," I added, aloud.
"Now come on and I'll show you an eye-opener!" he said.
Taking up the lantern, for it was growing dark, he preceded me to the Carnation house, and there amidst the plants he pointed out one or two. Holding his lantern close to one of the blooms, he wanted to know immediately my unqualified opinion about the merits of his discovery.
"What is it—a sport?" I inquired.
"A sport, nothing!" was the answer. "It's a seedling."
"How many plants have you got of these?" I asked.
