The Major stopped and fell into conversation, and then into bargaining.

He treated the man after the manner of collectors and other mad men, that is to say, he carefully and with a sort of anguish selected the best roots from the less excellent, praised some, disparaged others, made a subtle scale ranging from a thrilling worth and rarity to a degraded insignificance, and then bought them all.

The man was just pushing off his barrow when he stopped and came close to the Major.
"I'll tell you what, sir," he said.

"If you're interested in them things, you just get on to that wall." "On the wall!" cried the scandalised Major, whose conventional soul quailed within him at the thought of such fantastic trespass.
"Finest show of yellow pansies in England in that there garden, sir," hissed the tempter.

"I'll help you up, sir." How it happened no one will ever know but that positive enthusiasm of the Major's life triumphed over all its negative traditions, and with an easy leap and swing that showed that he was in no need of physical assistance, he stood on the wall at the end of the strange garden.