“Two: Remember that country boundaries are imaginary for plants. You should look into worldwide patents and make yourself familiar with foreign catalogs. Three: Keep your work as secret as possible. Do your climatic testing with trusted professionals. Don't give out samples to friends. And four: If someone learns of your project and offers substantial money up front for exclusive rights, run away. Plant patents on attractive plants that catch the public's interest can make enormous profits for you if you retain your rights.”
He glanced down fondly at the desk where his pink marigolds were sitting. 'These, by the way, have been registered with the patent office and will be grown over the next two years before release to the public. I have contracts already signed with hundreds of nurseries and mail-order plant firms.'
“In other words, you're going to get very, very rich?' Ursula piped up. 'I hope you'll consider using some of the money for good causes. I could suggest some to you.'
“Thank you, but I have good causes of my own,' Dr. Eastman said stiffly. 'As I was saying, five: A well- planned full-scale introduction of the plant to the public is the only way to go. Certain companies will act as agents for you on a sliding scale of royalties. The first year is the most expensive. As much as forty percent of your royalties on the plants shipped.'
“Forty percent for an agent?' Stefan Eckert exclaimed. 'Golly! I'm writing a textbook on educational management and I'd heard that agents only charged ten to fifteen percent.'
“I have no knowledge of literary agents,' Dr. Eastman said as if he were proud of this fact. 'As I was saying, six: You should know a lot about your triallers. They should have experience in the plant type, be known as efficient and prompt in reporting results, and have a solid reputation for keeping confidential testing quiet.”
Only Stefan and old Arnold Waring were taking extensive notes of the lecture, but freshly pressed Charles Jones and his neighbor Miss Martha Winstead were paying very close attention and seemed extremely interested.
“Now we'll take a break for about five minutes, and come back and let Mrs. Nowack order us around and assign drivers and passengers.' This might have been insulting, except that he said itwith a sincere smile at Shelley. 'And we'll be off then to see my garden and Mrs. Appledorn's.'
“Ms. Appledorn, if you don't mind,' Ursula said.
Nine S,*,
Shelley drove
“Approximately,' Shelley said.
“I can show you the house.'
“Oh. . you knew Dr. Eastman before this class?' Jane asked.
Miss Winstead turned slightly in the front seat and said to Jane in the seat behind her, 'All too well.”
There wasn't time to question this remark before they arrived at a small white colonial home with clipped hedges and lush grass in the front yard, but no flowers at all.
“Isn't that odd,' Jane said. 'I'm seeing so many more front-yard gardens in the last few years. You'd think a professional in the field would have lots of gardens.'
“It's a contagious thing,' Miss Winstead said. 'In the fifties and sixties you never saw gardens in front yards. Flowering shrubs like forsythia and dogwoods were barely acceptable. For some reason most homeowners thought gardens should be private. But when I put a garden along my driveway, the next year there were two small garden window boxes on either side of me, and some trees that had hostas and impatiens around them. The year after that, two of my neighbors made nice raised beds of begonias and dracaena. Now nearly every house on the block has something flowering in 'public,' so to speak. But there are still whole blocks where nobody has started the trend. Mrs. Jeffry, may I help you get out of the back of the vehicle?”
With Shelley at the wheel, Jane expected that they would be the first to arrive. But Dr. Eastman was already at home. He must be an even faster driver than Shelley. A horrifying thought.
“No, thanks,' Jane said. 'I'm getting the hang of it.' She was afraid she'd fall out the door and crush Miss Winstead, though on second thought, Miss Winstead looked quite durable.
Dr. Eastman was standing at a gate at the side of the house to welcome the class, but didn't appear to notice Miss Winstead. Instead, he spoke pointedly to Jane and Shelley.
“Go right on back and take a look. This is, of course, only a part-time home for me and nothing like my house and garden upstate.”
Jane was prepared to be disappointed after this warning. She hobbled down the side yard, which had a wooden fence with a few hanging pots of ivy and begonias. It was cool and dark and restful. Instead of a sidewalk, there was a wooden walkway with ferns here and there along the sides.
Nothing was spectacular, but the begonias were in full bloom and the ivy and ferns were spectacularly well kept. Not a spot or hint of yellowing on a single leaf. Entering the backyard behind Shelley and Miss Winstead, Jane was surprised. There were several large pines at the back of the lot where the yard sloped upward that were quite large and almost entirely concealed the house behind. In front of the pines were small islands of color and scattered, delicate-looking small plum trees. And there were quite a few Asian-looking ornaments.
But the garden was an exercise in restraint. Watching her step carefully, she limped along to a flagstone patio with a pair of old ceramic Foo dogs guarding the entrance. Shelley and Miss Winstead had abandoned her and were looking at something under the pines that appeared to be a sort of miniature teahouse.
The lawn was cool and green and so thick and evenly cut that it looked very like a fine carpet. The paths were made of tiny round stones embedded in a dark background that must have been dyed cement. Not the thing you'd want to walk on with crutches.
A Japanese woman came out the back door. 'Hello,' Jane said. 'Dr. Eastman has invited the class to see his yard. Are you Mrs. Eastman?”
The woman's face crinkled into a smile. She pointed to herself and said, 'Housekeeper. This my grandson, Joe.”
A bright-eyed but serious-looking boy with black hair as tidy as the lawn had joined them. 'Grandma has never learned much English, I'm afraid. What did you do to your leg, miss?”
Jane couldn't make up a lie to this nice, polite, solemn child. He looked about twelve years old — a very composed twelve-year-old. 'I just fell off a curbing. It's a boring thing, but true.'
“Would you like to walk about or take a chair?' he asked. His grandmother was standing behind him now, her hand on his shoulder, bobbing her head in a half-nodding, half-bowing manner.
“I'll walk about a bit, thank you,' Jane said with the same formal tone.
She got her crutches lined up and started out to follow Shelley around. Sensing movement behind her, she turned slightly. The boy was stooping along behind her and brushing up the round dents her crutches made in the grass.
“I'm so sorry,' Jane said, 'but I'm afraid to walk on the round stones.'
“No problem, miss,' he said. 'Perhaps you'd be more comfortable sitting in the shade, however.”
Jane reconsidered and took his advice. His grandmother rushed inside and got a very pretty embroidered pillow to put behind her back as she sat down on a teak bench. 'Thank you so much,' Jane said, and couldn't resist a little pleasant head bobbing in return.
The rest of the class followed quickly and all of them walked obediently along the stone paths, examining small sculptures and little mounds of subtly shaded flowers. Lavender and pale blue and light yellow mounds with perfect foliage. From Jane's vantage point she couldn't tell what they were.
“It's a very pretty yard, Joe. Do you help take care of it?'
“Yes, miss.'
“You do a very good job.'
“Thank you, miss.”
Polite conversations with polite children were hard on Jane. She gazed about, murmuring things like, 'Oh, how pretty the paths are' and 'Isn't that a lovely flowering bush?”
The garden was too perfect for her taste. There wasn't a thing wrong with it except its exactitude. Everything was precisely round, or oblong, or gently curved with great precision. There didn't appear to be a weed anywhere or a blade of grass out of place. Or a single object misplaced by an inch. It was soothingly bland. Nothing to excite or disturb the senses. She wondered whether this represented Dr. Eastman's taste or that of the housekeeper and her grandson.
