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My imagination ever placed it within sight and sufficiently near the scene of my occupation to pervade it with an odour of hemp and tar." He paused again, glanced up at my father, and on a nod of encouragement continued "The nuisance is, I was born in the Midlands to be precise, at West Bromicheham the son of a well-to-do manufacturer of artificial jewellery.
'Not for worlds, said I; 'but it grieves me to think how Fortune distributes her favours. I told him of my father. 'I should like to make the acquaintance of such a man, said he. 'You shall, said I; and fetching a pencil and a scrap of paper out of my pocket, I wrote as follows: "To Mr. Jonathan Fett, Manufacturer of Flams, W. Bromicheham." "The Public Stocks, Bovey Tracey, Devon.
To attend to it my father employed, on Wednesdays and Saturdays, an old fellow over whose head some sixty-five summers had passed without imparting to it a single secret. In short, he was the very worst gardener in West Bromicheham, and so obstinately, so insufferably, opinionated withal that one day, in a fit of irritation, my father slew him with his own spade.
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