Paradise Garden, by George 
Gibbs 
 
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Title: Paradise Garden The Satirical Narrative of a Great Experiment 
Author: George Gibbs 
Release Date: April 6, 2005 [EBook #15570] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PARADISE 
GARDEN *** 
 
Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed Proofreading 
Team. 
 
PARADISE GARDEN 
THE SATIRICAL NARRATIVE OF A GREAT EXPERIMENT
BY GEORGE GIBBS 
AUTHOR OF THE YELLOW DOVE, ETC. 
I have considered well his loss of time And how he cannot be a perfect 
man Not being tried and tutored in the world. 
--TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
ILLUSTRATED BY WILLIAM A. HOTTINGER 
GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 
Printed in the United States of America 
[Illustration: "'Love!' he sneered ... 'I thought you'd say that.'"] 
 
CONTENTS 
CHAPTER 
I. 
THE GREAT EXPERIMENT 
II. JERRY 
III. JERRY GROWS 
IV. ENTER EVE 
V. THE MINX RETURNS 
VI. THE CABIN 
VII. JACK BALLARD TAKES CHARGE 
VIII. JERRY EMERGES
IX. FOOT-WORK 
X. MARCIA 
XI. THE SIREN 
XII. INTRODUCING JIM ROBINSON 
XIII. UNA 
XIV. JERRY GOES INTO TRAINING 
XV. THE UNKNOWN UNMASKED 
XVI. THE FIGHT 
XVII. MARCIA RECANTS 
XVIII. TWO EMBASSIES 
XIX. THE PATH IN THE WOODS 
XX. REVOLT 
XXI. JERRY ASKS QUESTIONS 
XXII. THE CHIPMUNK 
XXIII. THE ENEMY'S COUNTRY 
XXIV. FEET OF CLAY 
XXV. THE MYSTERY DEEPENS 
XXVI. DRYAD AND SATYR 
XXVII. REVELATIONS
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
"'Love!' he sneered ... 'I thought you'd say that.'" 
"In the evenings sometimes I read while Jerry whittled" 
"This then was Jerry's house-party--!" 
"'Have pity, Jerry,' she whimpered" 
 
PARADISE GARDEN 
CHAPTER I 
THE GREAT EXPERIMENT 
It might be better if Jerry Benham wrote his own memoir, for no matter 
how veracious, this history must be more or less colored by the point of 
view of one irrevocably committed to an ideal, a point of view which 
Jerry at least would insist was warped by scholarship and stodgy by 
habit. But Jerry, of course, would not write it and couldn't if he would, 
for no man, unless lacking in sensibility, can write a true autobiography, 
and least of all could Jerry do it. To commit him to such a task would 
be much like asking an artist to paint himself into his own landscape. 
Jerry could have painted nothing but impressions of externals, leaving 
out perforce the portrait of himself which is the only thing that matters. 
So I, Roger Canby, bookworm, pedagogue and student of philosophy, 
now recite the history of the Great Experiment and what came of it. 
It is said that Solomon and Job have best spoken of the misery of man, 
the former the most fortunate, the latter the most unfortunate of 
creatures. And yet it seems strange to me that John Benham, the 
millionaire, Jerry's father, cynic and misogynist, and Roger Canby, 
bookworm and pauper, should each have arrived, through different 
mental processes, at the same ideal and philosophy of life. We both 
disliked women, not only disliked but feared and distrusted them, 
seeing in the changed social order a menace to the peace of the State
and the home. The difference between us was merely one of condition; 
for while I kept my philosophy secret, being by nature reticent and 
unassertive, John Benham had both the means and the courage to put 
his idealism into practice. 
Life seldom makes rapid adjustments to provide for its mistakes, and 
surely only the happiest kind of accident could have thrown me into the 
breach when old John Benham died, for I take little credit to myself in 
saying that there are few persons who could have fitted so admirably 
into a difficult situation. 
Curiously enough this happy accident had come from the most 
unexpected source. I had tried and failed at many things since leaving 
the University. I had corrected proofs in a publishing office, I had 
prepared backward youths for their exams, and after attempting life in a 
broker's office downtown, for which I was as little fitted as I should 
have been for the conquest of the Polar regions, I found myself one fine 
morning down to my last few dollars, walking the streets with an 
imminent prospect of speedy starvation. The fact of death, as an 
alternative to the apparently actual, did not disconcert me. I shouldn't 
have minded dying in the least, were it not for the fact that I had hoped 
before that event to have expounded for modern consumption certain 
theories of mine upon the dialectics of Hegel. As my money dwindled I 
was reduced to    
    
		
	
	
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