awaiting an answer. The young man’s face reddened further.
“Er, I suppose.” Several emotions swept across Baines’ face: embarrassment, frustration, and finally gloomy resignation. “I, I dunno, sir.”
“You planted them too deep,” Algernon gently chided. “The poor plant took all its energy trying to dig itself out of the ground. You’re not burying a corpse, remember. No need to plant them six feet deep. They’re just little seedlings. Delicate babies. They need to see the sun just as much as you and I. Understand?”
The young man dropped his eyes to the pathetic display of withered seedlings he stood behind.
Algernon clapped a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and reassured in an avuncular tone, “Don’t worry, Baines. You’ll get it soon enough. Before we’re finished I’ll make a first rate gardener out of you.” He moved on to the next box of seedlings. “Now,” he said brightly. “How are these coming along?”
Before the gardener could answer, Parkinson, one of Algernon’s junior botanists came rushing into the greenhouse in a state of agitation, his face flushed.
“Mister Hyde-Davies, sir!”
“What ever’s the matter, Parkinson?”
Parkinson was out of breath and so excited he could barely talk. “There’s a man, sir. In the Palm House. A naked man!”
Algernon’s expression showed his total bewilderment. “A naked man, you say? In the Palm House?”
Parkinson nodded his head rapidly. “Naked, sir. Totally starkers.”
Algernon couldn’t quite believe his ears. “A naked man—” He suddenly stopped as an awful premonition came over him.
No. He wouldn’t! Would he? Not even he would do such a thing. But then again, who else?
* * *
Algernon and Parkinson sprinted along the winding pathways of the Palm House.
“Mister Greenley’s chasing him, sir,” Parkinson yelled, “but he’s a slippery fellow. Look, there’s some of his togs!”
They found a gray silk top hat crowning a ficus tree. Ten feet on a pair of boots and socks lay where the owner had kicked them off. Farther still a pair of men’s trousers dangled from the lowest limb of a palm tree. They continued on, finding various items of hastily tossed-aside clothing. Finally Algernon spotted something thrust into the soft soil of a planter—a walking stick topped with a golden phoenix rising from the flames. Now there could be no doubt as to who the naked man was.
Algernon snatched the walking stick from the soil. He looked around the Palm House agitatedly. Seeing nothing he looked up at the glass domed ceiling and yelled at the top of his lungs.
“GEOFFREY!”
A naked man burst from the nearby bushes.
“Hello, Algy,” Thraxton shouted, chortling gleefully as he ran past.
“Geoffrey, what the deuce—” Algernon began to say, when a second later Mister Greenley, a gray-haired man in his late fifties, burst from the same bushes in hot pursuit, wielding a gardening rake with an obvious intent to do Thraxton some serious mischief.
“I’ll get ya, you swine!” Greenley yelled after the fleeing Thraxton.
Algernon and Parkinson joined the pursuit and now the four of them crashed pell-mell through the dense vegetation. Even as he ran, Algernon could see his position as head botanist evaporating before his eyes. His best friend was engaging in a demonstration of public lewdness that could very well land them both in the law courts if not at least the newspapers. Meanwhile his head gardener was trying his damndest to emasculate a peer of the realm with a gardening implement. If word of this got out, Kew’s head botanist would be lucky to find a position as a gardener in a municipal vegetable allotment.
A respectable middle-class family—a husband and wife, and their fifteen-year-old daughter—were strolling along one of the paths when Thraxton leapt from the undergrowth directly in front of them. All three stood in open-mouthed astonishment at the unwarranted appearance of a naked virile man.
“Er, I suppose.” Several emotions swept across Baines’ face: embarrassment, frustration, and finally gloomy resignation. “I, I dunno, sir.”
“You planted them too deep,” Algernon gently chided. “The poor plant took all its energy trying to dig itself out of the ground. You’re not burying a corpse, remember. No need to plant them six feet deep. They’re just little seedlings. Delicate babies. They need to see the sun just as much as you and I. Understand?”
The young man dropped his eyes to the pathetic display of withered seedlings he stood behind.
Algernon clapped a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and reassured in an avuncular tone, “Don’t worry, Baines. You’ll get it soon enough. Before we’re finished I’ll make a first rate gardener out of you.” He moved on to the next box of seedlings. “Now,” he said brightly. “How are these coming along?”
Before the gardener could answer, Parkinson, one of Algernon’s junior botanists came rushing into the greenhouse in a state of agitation, his face flushed.
“Mister Hyde-Davies, sir!”
“What ever’s the matter, Parkinson?”
Parkinson was out of breath and so excited he could barely talk. “There’s a man, sir. In the Palm House. A naked man!”
Algernon’s expression showed his total bewilderment. “A naked man, you say? In the Palm House?”
Parkinson nodded his head rapidly. “Naked, sir. Totally starkers.”
Algernon couldn’t quite believe his ears. “A naked man—” He suddenly stopped as an awful premonition came over him.
No. He wouldn’t! Would he? Not even he would do such a thing. But then again, who else?
* * *
Algernon and Parkinson sprinted along the winding pathways of the Palm House.
“Mister Greenley’s chasing him, sir,” Parkinson yelled, “but he’s a slippery fellow. Look, there’s some of his togs!”
They found a gray silk top hat crowning a ficus tree. Ten feet on a pair of boots and socks lay where the owner had kicked them off. Farther still a pair of men’s trousers dangled from the lowest limb of a palm tree. They continued on, finding various items of hastily tossed-aside clothing. Finally Algernon spotted something thrust into the soft soil of a planter—a walking stick topped with a golden phoenix rising from the flames. Now there could be no doubt as to who the naked man was.
Algernon snatched the walking stick from the soil. He looked around the Palm House agitatedly. Seeing nothing he looked up at the glass domed ceiling and yelled at the top of his lungs.
“GEOFFREY!”
A naked man burst from the nearby bushes.
“Hello, Algy,” Thraxton shouted, chortling gleefully as he ran past.
“Geoffrey, what the deuce—” Algernon began to say, when a second later Mister Greenley, a gray-haired man in his late fifties, burst from the same bushes in hot pursuit, wielding a gardening rake with an obvious intent to do Thraxton some serious mischief.
“I’ll get ya, you swine!” Greenley yelled after the fleeing Thraxton.
Algernon and Parkinson joined the pursuit and now the four of them crashed pell-mell through the dense vegetation. Even as he ran, Algernon could see his position as head botanist evaporating before his eyes. His best friend was engaging in a demonstration of public lewdness that could very well land them both in the law courts if not at least the newspapers. Meanwhile his head gardener was trying his damndest to emasculate a peer of the realm with a gardening implement. If word of this got out, Kew’s head botanist would be lucky to find a position as a gardener in a municipal vegetable allotment.
A respectable middle-class family—a husband and wife, and their fifteen-year-old daughter—were strolling along one of the paths when Thraxton leapt from the undergrowth directly in front of them. All three stood in open-mouthed astonishment at the unwarranted appearance of a naked virile man.
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