It may be merely the old-fogy conservatism of the individual, or there may be a law in it."These seemed very paltry things for a man of such wisdom to bother his head about.Theron looked, as he was bidden, at the rows of hives shining in the hot sun on a bench along the wall, but offered no comment beyond a casual, "My mother was always going to keep bees, but somehow she never got around to it.They say it pays very well, though.""The discovery of the reason why no bee will touch the nectar of the EPIPACTIS LATIFOLIA, though it is sweet to our taste, and wasps are greedy for it, WOULD pay,"commented the doctor."Not like a blue rhododendron, in mere money, but in recognition.Lots of men have achieved a half-column in the 'Encyclopedia Britannica'
on a smaller basis than that."
They stood now at the end of the garden, before a small, dilapidated summer-house.On the bench inside, facing him, Theron saw a strange recumbent figure stretched at full length, apparently sound asleep, or it might be dead.
Looking closer, with a startled surprise, he made out the shaven skull and outlandish garb of a Chinaman.
He turned toward his guide in the expectation of a scene.
The doctor had already taken out a note-book and pencil, and was drawing his watch from his pocket.He stepped into the summer-house, and, lifting the Oriental's limp arm, took account of his pulse.Then, with head bowed low, side-wise, he listened for the heart-action.Finally, he somewhat brusquely pushed back one of the Chinaman's eyelids, and made a minute inspection of what the operation disclosed.