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"My friend is afraid lest the damp should injure their colours. Ain't you, Brown?" "Yes, I am, Somers," I replied, taking his cue and shutting the tin case with a snap. Then the hawk-eyed person departed, also grumbling, for that story about the damp stuck in his throat. "Orchidist!" whispered the young man. "Dreadful people, orchidists, so jealous. Very rich, too, both of them. Mr.
May and Primrose that was their world-famed style would be able to put me in touch with opulent orchidists who would not mind venturing a couple of thousands on the chance of receiving a share in a flower that, according to Brother John, should be worth untold gold. At any rate, I would try. So on a certain Friday, about half-past twelve, I sought out the place of business of Messrs.
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