ave done well enough elsewhere," said Nemesis
suspiciously. "I'm surprised that yours should have failed."

"When I say 'failed,'" I explained, "I mean 'failed to get as far as
the preserving pan.' I always retain an option on eating the crop
fresh."

The inspector frowned and was going to make a note of this, so I tried
to distract his attention.

"Do you know," I said, "a short time ago people persisted in mistaking
me for a brother of the Duke of Cotsall?"

"Why?" he asked--rather rudely.

"Because of the strawberry mark on my upper lip. Ah, I think this
is the orchard. There was a wealth of bloom here when I put in my
application."

"Applications were not made till the fruit was on the trees," said
Lord RHONDDA'S minion, sharply. "Ah, there's a nice lot of plums."

This seemed more satisfactory.

"Yes, isn't there?" I said enthusiastically. "Now I'm sure _this_
makes up the amount all right."

"Plums are stone fruit," he observed stonily, "and you were allocated
one hundredweight of sugar for your _soft_ fruit, I believe?"

One really gets very tired of people who go on harping on the same
thing over and over again.

"What about raspberries?" I inquired.

"Soft fruit, of course," said the inspector.

"But they contain stones," I urged. "Nasty little things wot gits into
the 'ollers of your teeth somethink cruel, as cook says. Really, the
Government ought to give us more careful instructions. And what about
the apples? Are pips stones?"

"Apples are not used for jam-making," he retorted.

"What!" I exclaimed. "Tell that to the--to the Army in general!
Plum-and-apple jam, my dear Sir! And that reminds me: a jam composed
of half stone and half soft fruit--how do we stand in respect to
that?"

"Well, Sir," said the inspector, closing his notebook grudgingly, "I
don't think we need go into that. I think you've got just about the
requisite amount of soft fruit for the one hundredweight of sugar
which, I believe, you were allocated."

"There's still the rose garden," I said, "if you're not satisfied."

"Been turning that into an orchard, have you?" he asked. "Very
patriotic, I'm sure."

"Well, I don't know," I said. "My wife wants to make _pot-pourri_ as
usual, but what I say is, in these days--and with all that sugar--it
would surely be more patriotic (as you say) to make _fleurs de Nice._"

"It would be more patriotic perhaps," observed Lord RHONDDA'S minion
sententiously, "not to make jam at a