Somebody said, Grant, `A stitch in time saves nine,' it ought to have been, `A washed leaf keeps off grief.' See here." He took the syringe, filled it, and sent a fine shower beneath the leaves of the melons, where they were trained over a trellis, thoroughly washing them all over.
"Now you try," he said, and taking off my jacket I syringed away vigorously, while with matting and knife he tied in some loose strands and cut off others, so as to leave the vines neat.
"That'll do for the present," he said; "but mind this, Grant, if ever you see an enemy, shoot him while he's a single man if you can.

Wait till to-morrow, you'll have to shoot all his relations too." He led the way out of the pit, and round by the grounds, where different men were at work mowing and sweeping, the short cut grass smelling delicious in the morning air.

He spoke to first one and then another in a short business-like way, and then went on with me to one of the great conservatories up by the house.
"I might put you to that sort of work, Grant," he said, giving his head a backward jerk; "but that wants no brains.

Work under glass does.

You want to work with your hands and your head.