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a look at the sweet peas and vegetables at any rale,
In the warm mufHcd air the delicate aroma of the
elegant sweet peas was getting much the worst of it
in an encounter with the more aggressive smell of
highly polished onions. Except for a couple of
bearded gardeners who were conferring in professional
undertones, I had the tent to myself. Once 1 was
inside I felt glad to be loitering in there, alone and
away from the optical delirium of the cricket. The
brass band had paused to take breath: now aud
again the brittle thud of a batsman's stroke seemed to
intensify the quiescence of the floralized interior.

As I sniffed my way round I paid little attention to
the card-inscribed names of the competitors (though
I observed that the Miss Pattons had got second prize
for a tasteful table decoration): I found many of ihc
flowers tedious and unpleasing—more especially the
bulbous and freckled varieties with the unpronounce-
able names—the kind of flowers which my aunt always
referred to as "gardeners5 greenhouseries". On the
whole the fruit and vegetables gave me most enjoy-
ment. The black cherries looked delicious and sonic
of the green gooseberries were as large as small
hen's eggs. The two gardeners were concentrating on
Sam Bathwick's first-prize vegetables and as they
seemed to grudge making way for me I contented
myself with a glimpse of an immense marrow and
some very pretty pink potatoes. As I passed, one of
the gardeners was saying something about "copped
'im a fair treat this time5', and I absent-mindedly
wondered who had been copped. When I emerged
the home team had lost two more wickets and the
condition of the game was causing grave anxiety*
Reluctantly I drifted toward the Tea Tent for a period
of social victimization.