Граф Монте-Кристо

How a Gardener May Get Rid of the Dormice that Eat His Peaches

           Itisnotawondertheyarefat,sleepingallday,andonlywakingtoeatallnight.Listen.LastyearIhadfourapricotstheystoleone,Ihadonenectarine,onlyonewell,sir,theyatehalfofitonthewall;asplendidnectarineIneverateabetter."

           "Youateit?"

           "Thatistosay,thehalfthatwasleftyouunderstand;itwasexquisite,sir.Ah,thosegentlemenneverchoosetheworstmorsels;likeMereSimon’sson,whohasnotchosentheworststrawberries.Butthisyear,"continuedthehorticulturist,"I’lltakecareitshallnothappen,evenifIshouldbeforcedtositbythewholenighttowatchwhenthestrawberriesareripe."MonteCristohadseenenough.Everymanhasadevouringpassioninhisheart,aseveryfruithasitsworm;thatofthetelegraphmanwashorticulture.Hebegangatheringthegrape-leaveswhichscreenedthesunfromthegrapes,andwontheheartofthegardener."Didyoucomehere,sir,toseethetelegraph?"hesaid.

           "Yes,ifitisn’tcontrarytotherules."

           "Oh,no,"saidthegardener;"notintheleast,sincethereisnodangerthatanyonecanpossiblyunderstandwhatwearesaying."

           "Ihavebeentold,"saidthecount,"thatyoudonotalwaysyourselvesunderstandthesignalsyourepeat."

           "Thatistrue,sir,andthatiswhatIlikebest,"saidtheman,smiling.

           "Whydoyoulikethatbest?"

           "BecausethenIhavenoresponsibility.

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