these pods came from a wild, somewhat moist area, maybe a river or bridge, or—”
“Eric, stop shovelling it! You can’t tell that much from an envelope of dead seed pods! Who do you think you are, Basil Rathbone?”
“I said ‘trust me.’ Look, Benny, Hesperis is usually found cultivated as I told you. But when it’s found rough, it’s got to be near some explanation of how it got there. Now this could have come from a building site, where the original cultivated plants had been allowed to go back to nature. Or you could make just as good a case for a stream or river.”
“Yes, but where’d you get the bridge?”
“Elementary, my dear Benny. The seeds had to come from some contact with civilization. I see them falling off on moist soil where a highway crosses a river or even a culvert. These plants came with garbage that was dumped or fill thrown over a guardrail. Something like that.”
“And now you’re going to tell me that in all of the Niagara Peninsula there is only one place where all of these conditions are met. Right?”
“Wrong. There are thousand of places. Well, at least hundreds. I can’t do all of your work for you, kid.” He gave me his big innocent grin and invited me for coffee. Before I got my hopes up, he took an electric kettle from under his desk and two unwashed cups with chipped rims from a bottom drawer. The coffee, when it came, was superior. I shouldn’t judge by appearances so much. While we were sipping the brew, lightened with canned milk, Eric told me more about Dame’s Rocket than I think the world is ready to hear. He told me about its spike of showy flowers, showed me pictures in several books and even found a specimen in a drawer in one of his smelly cabinets. His carefully preserved specimens had about as much colour and life as the samples from Jack Dowden’s cuffs. Eric taught me not to confuse Hesperis with phlox.
“How silly,” he said, giving his head a superior twist. “Phlox has five fused petals, while Hesperis, like all mustards, has four petals, arranged like a cross—cruciform as we botanists say—which has resulted in the family Cruciferae, which has world-wide about twenty-three thousand species in many genera …” He looked up just before I’d achieve the door. “Benny, you didn’t finish your coffee!” I turned and made a helpless gesture.
“Eric, I thought mustards were either mild or hot. I’ll have to come back for the rest of this some other time. Right now Anna Abraham is expecting me to drop into her office in the History Department,” I lied. “Thanks a lot for the stuff on Hesperis. You never let me down.”
“Benny,” he said crossing towards me, “do you want to see a newspaper from 1942 about Japanese advances in New Guinea? I’ve got one here about the death of the Duke of Kent in Australia. It’s right here somewhere. It was in a plane crash; I think it has rosehips in it. I had one with the disappearance of Leslie Howard, but that got used up when I spilled coffee on the term paper of a B student.” I backed out the door. “Hey, Benny, I thought you wanted to learn something about this stuff?”
A few minutes later, I knocked on Anna Abraham’s door in the History Department. For several reasons, I thought it would be nice to see her. The very least of them was that it would correct the lie I’d told Eric while I was trying to get away from his tidal wave of information. I’d just given up knocking on her door when she walked into the corridor from the other end, struggling with an overstuffed briefcase.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” she said.
“Cooperman’s the name,” I said, continuing in the same vein. “I’ve come to speak to you on a matter of some delicacy.”
“Serious as that, eh? We’d better go down to the cafeteria, then. I’ve got some time before my next class,” she said. I let Anna lead the way to the elevator. “Nearly called you last night,” I said, “but I was
“Eric, stop shovelling it! You can’t tell that much from an envelope of dead seed pods! Who do you think you are, Basil Rathbone?”
“I said ‘trust me.’ Look, Benny, Hesperis is usually found cultivated as I told you. But when it’s found rough, it’s got to be near some explanation of how it got there. Now this could have come from a building site, where the original cultivated plants had been allowed to go back to nature. Or you could make just as good a case for a stream or river.”
“Yes, but where’d you get the bridge?”
“Elementary, my dear Benny. The seeds had to come from some contact with civilization. I see them falling off on moist soil where a highway crosses a river or even a culvert. These plants came with garbage that was dumped or fill thrown over a guardrail. Something like that.”
“And now you’re going to tell me that in all of the Niagara Peninsula there is only one place where all of these conditions are met. Right?”
“Wrong. There are thousand of places. Well, at least hundreds. I can’t do all of your work for you, kid.” He gave me his big innocent grin and invited me for coffee. Before I got my hopes up, he took an electric kettle from under his desk and two unwashed cups with chipped rims from a bottom drawer. The coffee, when it came, was superior. I shouldn’t judge by appearances so much. While we were sipping the brew, lightened with canned milk, Eric told me more about Dame’s Rocket than I think the world is ready to hear. He told me about its spike of showy flowers, showed me pictures in several books and even found a specimen in a drawer in one of his smelly cabinets. His carefully preserved specimens had about as much colour and life as the samples from Jack Dowden’s cuffs. Eric taught me not to confuse Hesperis with phlox.
“How silly,” he said, giving his head a superior twist. “Phlox has five fused petals, while Hesperis, like all mustards, has four petals, arranged like a cross—cruciform as we botanists say—which has resulted in the family Cruciferae, which has world-wide about twenty-three thousand species in many genera …” He looked up just before I’d achieve the door. “Benny, you didn’t finish your coffee!” I turned and made a helpless gesture.
“Eric, I thought mustards were either mild or hot. I’ll have to come back for the rest of this some other time. Right now Anna Abraham is expecting me to drop into her office in the History Department,” I lied. “Thanks a lot for the stuff on Hesperis. You never let me down.”
“Benny,” he said crossing towards me, “do you want to see a newspaper from 1942 about Japanese advances in New Guinea? I’ve got one here about the death of the Duke of Kent in Australia. It’s right here somewhere. It was in a plane crash; I think it has rosehips in it. I had one with the disappearance of Leslie Howard, but that got used up when I spilled coffee on the term paper of a B student.” I backed out the door. “Hey, Benny, I thought you wanted to learn something about this stuff?”
A few minutes later, I knocked on Anna Abraham’s door in the History Department. For several reasons, I thought it would be nice to see her. The very least of them was that it would correct the lie I’d told Eric while I was trying to get away from his tidal wave of information. I’d just given up knocking on her door when she walked into the corridor from the other end, struggling with an overstuffed briefcase.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” she said.
“Cooperman’s the name,” I said, continuing in the same vein. “I’ve come to speak to you on a matter of some delicacy.”
“Serious as that, eh? We’d better go down to the cafeteria, then. I’ve got some time before my next class,” she said. I let Anna lead the way to the elevator. “Nearly called you last night,” I said, “but I was
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