“Jenkins!” said a muffled voice. It was followed by a bone-rattling sneeze. Muller pushed his way through the leaves to peer rheumy-eyed down at Carter Jenkins. “What’s all this… this foliage about anyway?”
“Sorry, sir,” said Jenkins. He shook his head, setting his branches shaking. “It’s springtime. I always get lots of new growth.”
“Your productivity is down five percent.”
“I haven’t gotten enough sun…”
“Now, Jenkins, we’ve been more than understanding about your… condition, but- is that a pear?”
“Looks like, Mr. Muller. I’d hoped for citrus again, but-“
“I do like a nice pear in brandy,” Muller mused.
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