The stamens do not crowd the doorway of the spur; they lie down out of the way until they ripen, then they stand in front of the spur, and when their pollen is shed they lie down again.
They do not obstruct the way to the nectary because they wish the bees and birds to find an easy entrance.
Why does one anther ripen at a time? Why do not all shed pollen together, as is the habit of the morning-glory, and finish in one day?
Perhaps the tropæolum fears the rain may ruin the chances of the seeds to get pollen. We know that water spoils the pollen, and though the tropæolum has fringes to keep it from the nectary, and a roof to protect it, more or less would doubtless beat in during a hard shower.
Does the tropæolum bloom, then, in the rainy season in its own hot home—in the rainy season when the showers are terrific?
We should like to know that.
If it did, that would be a good reason for ripening the anthers one at a time. If one were spoiled, another might succeed.
We may be sure there is a good reason for this habit of the tropæolum, though we may not have discovered it.
When at last the pollen is gone and the anthers are empty and shriveled, the spur is still full of honey.
In front of it has risen, not a stamen this time, but a dainty five-rayed stigma. It is held in place by the style, and is ripe and ready for pollen. It has unfolded its five rays that it may catch and hold the pollen grains.