“It had occurred to me to wonder whether it were possible in any way to inoculate rose trees against the onset of mildew. Perhaps you’ll think it an old man’s foolish hobby, but I have approached the subject in the usual manner of research workers, with a gelatine culture in my laboratory—God bless my soul, my dear Brandt. You are ill, take my arm. My boy, you will find some chairs on the veranda; go and fetch one.”
“It is nothing,” said Brandt. “A momentary giddiness, that’s all. The sun is hot—”
“And I have kept you here while I chatter. Let us walk slowly to the house and sit in the cool. You will drink a glass of wine with me; it will restore you.”
“Thank you,” said Brandt with a queer little smile. “I shall be pleased to.”
They sat in long wicker chairs while the old gentleman bro
