If you can bring me a good-sized bunch after the weak-kneed----" "Weak-hearted," corrected the Harvester.
"Well 'weak-hearted,' then; it's all the same thing.

If you've got any left, as I was saying, you can fetch them to me for the smell." The Harvester laughed all the way down town.

There he went to Doctor Carey's office, examined a directory, and got the names of all the numbers where he had sold yellow violets.

A few questions when the doctor came in settled all of them, but the flower scheme was better.
Because the yellow were not so plentiful as the white and blue, next day he added buttercups and cowslips to his store for the dark girls.

When he had rifled his beds for the last time, after three weeks of almost daily trips to town, and had paid high prices to small boys he set searching the adjoining woods until no more flowers could be found, he drove from the outskirts of the city one day toward the hospital, and as he stopped, down the street came Doctor Carey frantically waving to him.
As the big car slackened, "Come on David, quick! I've seen her!" cried the doctor.
The Harvester jumped from the wagon, threw the lines to Belshazzar, and landed in the panting car.
"For Heaven's sake where?
Are you sure ?" The car went speeding down the street.