My father tore his way
through the thicket to the tool-shed, dragged forth a hook and
positively hacked a path back to my mother, barely in time to release
her from the coils of a major convolvulus (_ipomoea purpurea) which
had her fast by the ankles.
"Now, this story, which my father used to tell modestly enough, to
account for his success at our local flower-shows, seems to me to
hold a deeper significance, and a moral which I will not insult your
intelligence by extracting for you . . . The _actions_ of the just?
Foh!" continued Mr. Fett, and filled his mouth with melon.
"What about their _passions?_ Why, sir, yet another story occurs to
me, which might pass for an express epologue upon your father's
career. Did you never hear tell of the Grand Duchess Sophia of
Carinthia and her Three Wooers?"
"Pardon me, Mr. Fett--" I began.
"Pardon _me_, sir," he cut me short, with a flourish of his spoon.
"I know what you would say: that you are impatient rather to hear how
it is that you find me here in Genoa. That also you shall hear, but
permit me to come to it in my own way.
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