"
"Woodden," said his master, when the gardener had arrived, "this
gentleman, Mr. Quatermain, is going to show you an orchid that is ten
times finer than 'O. Pavo!'"
"Beg pardon, sir," answered Woodden, "but if Mr. Quatermain says that,
he lies. It ain't in Nature; it don't bloom nowhere."
I opened the case and revealed the golden Cypripedium. Woodden stared
at it and rocked. Then he stared again and felt his head as though to
make sure it was on his shoulders. Then he gasped.
"Well, if that there flower baint made up, it's a MASTER ONE! If I
could see that there flower ablowing on the plant I'd die happy."
"Woodden, stop talking, and sit down," exclaimed his master. "Yes,
there, where you can look at the flower. Now, Mr. Quatermain, will you
tell us the story of that orchid from beginning to end. Of course
omitting its habitat if you like, for it isn't fair to ask that
secret. Woodden can be trusted to hold his tongue, and so can I."
I remarked that I was sure they could, and for the next half-hour
talked almost without interruption, keeping nothing back and
explaining that I was anxious to find someone who would finance an
expedition to search for this particular plant; as I believed, the
only one of its sort that existed in the world.
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