ttle tribute
like that comin' from me.

Just turnin' up sod with a spade in the dewy morn. Listens kind of
romantic, don't it! And you might like it first rate. Might agree with
you. As for me, I've discovered that my system don't demand anything
like that. Posi-tive-ly. I gave it a good try-out and the reactions
wasn't satisfactory.

You see, it was this way: there's a narrow strip down by the road where
our four-acre estate sort of pinches out, and Vee had planned to do some
fancy landscape gardenin' on it--a bed of cannas down the middle, I
believe, and then rows of salvia, and geraniums and other things. She
had it all mapped out on paper. Also the bulbs and potted plants had
arrived and were ready to be put in.

But it happens that Dominick, our official gardener, had all he could
jump to just then, plantin' beans and peas and corn, and the helper he
depended on to break up this roadside strip had gone back on him.

"How provoking!" says Vee. "I am so anxious to get those things in. If
the ground was ready I would do the planting myself. I just wish"--and
then she stops.

"Well, let's have it," says I. "What's your wish?"

"Oh, nothing much Torchy," says she. "But if I were strong enough to
dig up that sod I wouldn't have to wait for any pokey Italian."

"Why couldn't I do it?" I suggests reckless.

"You!" says Vee, and then snickers.

Say, if she'd come poutin' around, or said right out that she didn't see
why I couldn't make myself useful now and then, I'd have announced flat
that gardenin' was way out of my line. But when she snickers--well, you
know how it is.

"Yessum! Me," says I. "It ain't any art, is it, just stirrin' up the
ground with a spade? And how do you know, Vee, but what I'm the grandest
little digger ever was? Maybe it's a talent I've been concealin' from
you all along."

"But it's rather hard work, turning old sod, and getting out all the
grass roots and rocks," says she. "It takes a lot of strength."

"Huh!" says I. "Feel of that right arm."

"Yes," says she, "I believe you are strong, Torchy. But when could you
find the time?"

"I'd make it," says I. "All I got to do is to roll out of the cot an
hour or so earlier in the morning. Wouldn't six hours do the job? Well,
two hours a day for three days, and there you are. Efficiency stuff.
That's me. Lead me to it."

Vee gazes at me admirin'. "Aren't you splendid, Torchy!" says she. "And
I'm sure the exercise will do you a lot of