These "sensible" men are parasitic

freezing by walking about:" so he rose and huddled on all his clothes and went down into the house, but the fires were not yet lit. Finding the back door open he went out. It was full morning of a grey, sunless day. There were dark clouds, fairly low, and as John came out one snowflake fell at his feet, but no more. He found that he was in Mr. Sensible's garden, but it was more of a yard than a garden. A high wall ran all about it and all within the wall was dry, brown earth, with a few stony paths. Dibbling the earth with his foot, John found that the soil was only half an inch deep: under it was solid rock. A little way from the house he found Drudge down on his hands and knees scraping together what seemed to be a little pile of dust, but it was in fact the soil of the garden. The little pile had been got together at the cost of leaving the rock uncovered for a big circle--like a bald patch--all round Drudge.

"Good morning, Drudge," said John. "What are you making?"

"Radish beds, sir."

"Your master is a great gardener."

"Talks about it, sir."

"Does he not work in the garden himself?"

"No, sir."

"It is a poor soil here. Does he manage to feed himself on his own produce in a good year?"

"Feeds me on it, sir."

"What does the garden grow--besides radishes?"

"Nothing, sir."

John passed on to the end of the garden and looked over the wall, which was lower here. He drew back with a little start for he found that he was looking down an abyss: the garden was perched on the edge of the Grand Canyon. Below John's feet, at the bottom of the gorge, lay the forest, and on the opposite side he saw a mixture of wood and cliff. The cliffs were all shaggy with trailing and hanging greenery and streams, rendered immovable to sight by their distance, came down from the land beyond. Even on that cold morning the farther side looked richer and warmer than his own.

"We must get out of this," said John. At that moment Drudge called to him.

Their culture is precarious

"I shouldn't lean on that wall, sir." he said. "There's frequent landslides."

"Landslides?"

"Yes, sir. I've built that wall a dozen times. The house used to be right out there--half-way across the gorge."

"The canyon is getting wider, then?"

"At this point, sir. In Mr. Epicurus' time----"

"You have been employed here under other masters, then?"

"Yes, sir. I've seen a good many of them. Whoever has lived here has always needed me. Choregia⁸⁴ they used to call me in the old days, but now they just call me Drudge."

"Tell me about your old masters," said John.

"Mr. Epicurus was the first. Mental case he was, poor gentleman: he had a chronic fear of the black hole. Something dreadful. I never had a better employer, though. Nice, kind, quiet-spoken sort of a man. I was very sorry when he went down the cliff----"

"Goodness me!" exclaimed John. "Do you mean that some of your masters have lost their lives in these landslides?"

"Most of them, sir."

At that moment a leonine roar came from one of the upper windows of the house.

"Drudge! Son of a bitch! Hot water."

"Coming, sir," said Drudge, rising very deliberately from his knees and giving a finishing pat to his heap of dust. "I shall be leaving here soon," he continued to John. "I am thinking of going further North."

"Further North?"

"Yes, sir. There are openings with Mr. Savage up in the mountains. I was wondering if you are Mr. Vertue were going that way----"

"Drudge!" bellowed Mr. Sensible's voice from the house.

"Coming, sir," said Drudge, beginning to untie two pieces of string with which he had confined his trousers beneath his knees. "So you see, Mr. John, I should be greatly obliged if you would allow me to travel with you."

"Drudge! Am I to call you again?" shouted Mr. Sensible.

"Coming, sir. If you was to agree I would give Mr. Sensible notice this morning."