HUMUS

New Zealand Listener, Volume 11, Issue 266, 28 July 1944, Page 18

HUMUS

_. Written for "The Listenes" | by

SHIBLI

Y wife and I are proud of our front garden. It is a small plot, about eight by eight, sufficient to grow one small native shrub in the centre, carnations in the summer, chrysanthemums in the winter, and geraniums all the year round. About a year ago we had a visit from a farmer relation who, when the eight by eight was pointed out to him, admitted "it was fine," but added that it wanted humus. Some manure would do it a power of good. He had hardly said these words when he sighted a neat pile up the street in the wake of the milk cart. "Give us a bucket and shovel quick," he said to Mrs. Shibli. I have never seen my wife so interested. She clapped" her hands with delight as Cousin Compost came back with a weil-filled bucket. Then she turned to me, and there was a new light in her eyes. "Now we know what to do," she said. "You don’t mean, dear, that you expect me to wander the streets with a bucket?" "Why not?" cried my wife. "Cousin Compost has done it, so why not you?" "It’s all very well for Compost," I stammered, "he’s playing around with that stuff all day long." "You mean you're too stuck up?" . "Well, hardly that," I replied, "but I would not look too happy if Denhard saw me." : "Why, I saw Denhard peeping out of his window just now," replied my wife. "He looked envious when he saw what was in the bucket." Denhard the dentist lives a few doors away from us, and also has a front garden, slightly larger than ours. Next morning, our Cousin whipped out and got another bucketful, but as he had to leave that day for his farm, I dreaded what I would have to face in the absence of his willing hands. * * * HEN it happened. Two mornings later as I was about to leave for work, my wife’s eagle eye sighted something up the street, and she gave a cry of joy, I muttered a curse on all milkmen’s horses. With the best excuse in the woridI was dressed for the office and in a hurry — I point-blank refused to get busy with the bucket. > : "But dear, it will be gone when you come home," cried my wife, "and it’s " as precious these days as ’ "As ergot," I shot back, and I dashed out of the front gate on my way to work. I was fuming-me a street cleaner?not on your life-all horses should be abolished in the city — insanitary (continued on next page)

(continued from previous page) anachronisms-dig for victory. . . black leaf forty and all that rot. Confound it all! Like a murderer visiting the spot marked C, I watched: for the "humus" on my return home. It had gone! There were signs where it had been; not enough was left to satisfy a halfdozen sparrows. I was mystified, but intensely relieved. ; There was a sad accusing look on my wife’s face as she met me at the door. "It’s gone," she said, simply. "Yes, it’s gone and good luck to it," I replied. : \ "But do you know who got it?" "Who?" "Denhard the dentist." I was staggered at first dnd then angry. The cheek of the fellow! To pinch our manure! And I could have lifted it after nightfall. Denhard was not going to put it over me again. If he was going in for daylight raids, so would I, How quickly the competitive instinct works, , 3 % i WAS up early next morning waiting with my bucket near a crack in

the back fence. Shortly the milk cart appeared. I had to place my hand over my wife's mouth to stifle her cry of anticipation. I waited for the cart to move on. Then like a dog re-

leased from the chain, I shot out in the roadway. I heard a gate slam a few doors down. A strange fear entered my mind. I did not look back, but put on more speed. I was nearly there when I heard overtaking steps. Denhard is younger and more agile than I, so I turned around with my bucket-on the defensive, Our buckets crashed, like the heads of two old goats. As we stood glaring at each other, I decided there was only one solution. "Have you a coin, Denhard?" I said. My rival produced a half-crown. "Heads or tails?" I cried, as I spun it in the air. "Heads," shouted Denhard. And heads it was. "Your turn to-morrow, Shibli," murmured Denhard, gleefully, as he got busy with his shovel. There was no to-morrow. As from the next day, the round was served by a motor truck.