Free Lantana Lane by Eleanor Dark

(like a snail, a cloud, or the growing tip of a plant) at a pace which allows him to take his time about it. He had never studied motor vehicles, for even when they were stationary he found himself unable to forget that they were essentially mobile objects which might, at any tick of the clock, begin to move at forty miles an hour; this made him nervous, and destroyed his concentration.
    But now there was one available which conveyed no such disquieting impression, since it had all the appearance of being permanently anchored to the ground by rose and pumpkin vines, and incorporated into the lantana as inextricably as a fence. He therefore gave himself up to almost continuous contemplation of this rare spectacle, and to an exhaustive study of the natural processes which were submerging it, leaf by leaf, in rampant vegetation.
    It was about the time when Herbie first noticed the pumpkin forming that Uncle Cuth presented himself at the Arnolds’, and as they were last on the list of those who were to entertain him, everyone was beginning to wonder rather wildly what would happen next; for the latest medical bulletin held out no hope of Joe’s return for some time.
    Uncle Cuth had been no more than five days with the Arnolds, however, when he created a sensation by declaring that he had made his own arrangements for the future. He was going to stay with Herbie Bassett. He reckoned he weren’t going to be exploited no more by a lot of skinflints that was only trying to get free labour out of him, so he was going to Herbie, because Herbie was the only bloke in the Lane not plumb-crazy about work, and there wouldn’t be no flamin’ women around to push soap and towels at him, and try to sneak the clothes off of his back.
    On this note of defiance, he walked out the Arnolds’ gate, and up the Lane towards the green ute. Immediately all the telephones began to ring in all the houses, and by the time Uncle Cuth reached the corner, Herbie was the only person in the Lane who did not know what was in store for him.
    Squatting on his heels, he was studying the pumpkin when Uncle Cuth walked up. It was about the size of a marble, and it was growing in midair from a stem which had reached out from one of the back wheels, and attached itself to an overhanging branch of lantana. Herbie was quite excited about it, foreseeing days—nay, weeks—of absorbing occupation and, in due course, a climax which might well prove to be dramatic; for clearly, as it grew bigger it would also grow heavier, and something would happen. What? Would the stem break? Would it develop a kink which impeded its circulation, and condemned the infant pumpkin to premature extinction? or would it subside, gently lowering its burden to the ground? . . .
    Uncle Cuth, standing beside him, said:
    â€œHuh.”
    Herbie, without lifting his eyes, replied politely, but absent-mindedly:
    â€œHuh.”
    Uncle Cuth, bending down, examined the pumpkin, and expressed the opinion that it would never come to nothing. Herbie remained silent, for he had no preconceived ideas on this or any other subject; he merely wished to observe, and whatever happened was all right with him. But he did not want to be disturbed just now, nor to have his attention deflected, because he really had two things to watch at once. Near the pumpkin there was a corkscrew-like tendril stretching out towards a tall, dead stalk of Stinking Roger, and it had only a centimetre to go.
    Now Herbie had watched tendrils at work in many varieties of scandent plants—those of peas (which he held to be assiduous, but incompetent), beans (which he considered enterprising and efficient), passion-fruit (which, in his opinion, were not only marvels of tenacity, but had also provided inspiration for the coiled steel spring), and others too numerous to mention—but watch as he would, he had never yet managed to see a tendril at the precise moment of its first contact with a