"My dear Elinor," said the Baroness, "you would save yourself all this heart-b

urning and a lot of gardener's bills, not to mention sparrow anxieties, simply b
y paying an annual subscription to the O.O.S.A."
"Never heard of it," said Elinor; "what is it?"
"The Occasional-Oasis Supply Association," said the Baroness; "it exists to
meet cases exactly like yours, cases of backyards that are of no practical use
for gardening purposes, but are required to blossom into decorative scenic backg
rounds at stated intervals, when a luncheon or dinner-party is contemplated. Sup
posing, for instance, you have people coming to lunch at one-thirty; you just ri
ng up the Association at about ten o'clock the same morning, and say 'lunch gard
en'. That is all the trouble you have to take. By twelve forty-five your yard is
carpeted with a strip of velvety turf, with a hedge of lilac or red may, or wha
tever happens to be in season, as a background, one or two cherry trees in bloss
om, and clumps of heavily-flowered rhododendrons filling in the odd corners; in
the foreground you have a blaze of carnations or Shirley poppies, or tiger lilie
s in full bloom. As soon as the lunch is over and your guests have departed the
garden departs also, and all the cats in Christendom can sit in council in your
yard without causing you a moment's anxiety. If you have a bishop or an antiquar
y or something of that sort coming to lunch you just mention the fact when you a
re ordering the garden, and you get an old-world pleasaunce, with clipped yew he
dges and a sun-dial and hollyhocks, and perhaps a mulberry tree, and borders of
sweet-williams and Canterbury bells, and an old-fashioned beehive or two tucked
away in a corner. Those are the ordinary lines of supply that the Oasis Associat
ion undertakes, but by paying a few guineas a year extra you are entitled to its
emergency E.O.N. service."
"What on earth is an E.O.N. service?"
"It's just a conventional signal to indicate special cases like the incursi
on of Gwenda Pottingdon. It means you've got some one coming to lunch or dinner
whose garden is alleged to be 'the envy of the neighbourhood.'"
< 3 >
"Yes," exclaimed Elinor, with some excitement, "and what happens then?"
"Something that sounds like a miracle out of the Arabian Nights. Your backy
ard becomes voluptuous with pomegranate and almond trees, lemon groves, and hedg
es of flowering cactus, dazzling banks of azaleas, marble-basined fountains, in
which chestnut-and-white pondherons step daintily amid exotic water-lilies, whil
e golden pheasants strut about on alabaster terraces. The whole effect rather su
ggests the idea that Providence and Norman Wilkinson have dropped mutual jealous
ies and collaborated to produce a background for an open-air Russian Ballet; in
point of fact, it is merely the background to your luncheon party. If there is a
ny kick left in Gwenda Pottingdon, or whoever your E.O.N. guest of the moment ma
y be, just mention carelessly that your climbing putella is the only one in Engl
and, since the one at Chatsworth died last winter. There isn't such a thing as a
climbing putella, but Gwenda Pottingdon and her kind don't usually know one flo
wer from another without prompting."
"Quick," said Elinor, "the address of the Association."
Gwenda Pottingdon did not enjoy her lunch. It was a simple yet elegant meal
, excellently cooked and daintily served, but the piquant sauce of her own conve
rsation was notably lacking. She had prepared a long succession of eulogistic co
mments on the wonders of her town garden, with its unrivalled effects of horticu
ltural magnificence, and, behold, her theme was shut in on every side by the lux
uriant hedge of Siberian berberis that formed a glowing background to Elinor's b
ewildering fragment of fairyland. The pomegranate and lemon trees, the terraced
fountain, where golden carp slithered and wriggled amid the roots of gorgeous-hu
ed irises, the banked masses of exotic blooms, the pagoda-like enclosure, where
Japanese sand-badgers disported themselves, all these contributed to take away G
wenda's appetite and moderate her desire to talk about gardening matters.
"I can't say I admire the climbing putella," she observed shortly, "and any
way it's not the only one of its kind in England; I happen to know of one in Ham
pshire. How gardening is going out of fashion; I suppose people haven't the time
for it nowadays."