S.C. Yes; but, SMUGGINS, all these alterations will run into time and—­expense, I’m afraid.

G.O.G. (confidentially). You leave that to me, Sir!  The fust expense’ll be the biggest, and a saving in the long run, take my word.  And then you will ’ave a garding, you will, one as that ’ere muddled up bit o’ greenery nex door won’t be a patch on it, for all he’s so proud of it.(Gets Simple Citizen into his clutches, and works him to his will.)

    SCENE II.—­The Same, six months later in the Season.

S.C. (returning from a fortnight’s absence).  What, SMUGGINS, still at it?  And—­eh—­by Jove, what have you been up to?  Why I hardly know the place again!

G.O.G. (complacently).  I should ’ope not, Sir It is a bit different from when you last saw it, I flatter myself.  Fact it is a garding, now. Then it wos a wildernidge!

S.C. Yes, but SMUGGINS, hang it all, you’ve cut almost every bit of greenery away!

G.O.G. (contemptuously).  Greenery!!!  And who wants greenery?  Greenery ain’t gardening, greenery ain’t not by chorks.  Any fool, even that cove nex door, can grow greenery!

S.C. Yes, but SMUGGINS, I don’t like my limes to look like gouty posts, my branchy elms to show as bare as broom-sticks, and my fruit-trees to be trimmed into timber-screens!

G.O.G. (persuasively).  No, Sir, cert’ny not.  Fact is they’d bin let grow wild so long that cutting on ’em freely back wos the only way to save ’em.  Jest wait till next year, Sir, and you’ll see.

S.C. (doubtfully).  Humph!  Looks beastly now, anyhow.  And you’ve altered all the paths, and nearly all the beds.  I didn’t tell you—­

G.O.G. (emphatically).  No, Sir, you didn’t.  You give me cart blarnch, you did, and I’ve done my level best.  The Dook ’ad the same idees at first, but when he comes to know me, he says, says he, SMUGGINS, you’re always right, he says.  If you wos to run a reaping-machine through my horchids, or a traction-engine over my turf, I should know as you wos a-doing of the right thing—­in the long run!  Oh, you leave it to me, Sir, and you won’t repent it.  And—­ahem—­here’s my little haccount, Sir,—­hup to date.

    [Presents dirty piece of blue paper, giving scanty details,
    and a spanking total.  Simple Citizen pays, and tries to look
    pleasant.

[Illustration]

    SCENE III.

    The Same, six months later.  Present, Simple Citizen, and a
    Sympathetic Friend.

Sympathetic Friend.  Well, well, it does look a waste, APPLEYARD.

Simple Citizen (purple).  A waste!  I should think it did. indeed!  And to think of the pretty, green, bowery place it was when I took it!  Unprofitable, perhaps, but pleasant.  Now it is neither pleasant nor profitable.