“There is no other just like your humble servant,” he assured her, again struggling with the cork. “I can’t grow enough lemons—it’s a lemon ranch she handed me—to pay expenses. The first year I decorated my estate with a mortgage; had to have an automobile, you know. The second year I put another plaster on to pay the interest of the first mortgage and a few scattering debts. Third year, the third patch; fourth year, the usual thing. Fifth year—that’s this one—the money sharks balked. They said the ranch is loaded to its full capacity. So, I’ll have to sell some lemons.”