"Which indeed there is, gentlemen!" the landlady indignantly protested, as she drew up the blind, and indicated the back garden.
"Cabbages, I perceive," said Balbus. "Well, they're green, at any rate."
"Which the greens at the shops," their hostess explained, "are by no means dependable upon. Here you has them on the premises, and of the best."
"Does the window open?" was always Balbus' first question in testing a lodging: and "Does the chimney smoke?" his second. Satisfied on all points, he secured the refusal of the room, and they moved on to Number Twenty-five.
This landlady was grave and stern. "I've nobbut one room left," she told them: "and it gives on the back-gyardin."
"But there are cabbages?" Balbus suggested.
The landlady visibly relented. "There is, sir," she said: "and good ones, though I say it as shouldn't. We can't rely on the shops for greens. So we grows them ourselves."
"A singular advantage," said Balbus: and, after the usual questions, they went on to Fifty-two.
"And I'd gladly accommodate you all, if I could," was the greeting that met them. "We are but mortal," ("Irrelevant!" muttered Balbus) "and I've let all my rooms but one."
"Which one is a back-room, I perceive," said Balbus: "and looking out on—on cabbages, I presume?"
"Yes, indeed, sir!" said their hostess. "Whatever other folks may do, we grows our own. For the shops——"