"And don't forget about eight inches apart."
"I prefer six; you turn your thoughts to courage."
"Primitive instinct, difference between man and woman, one has more of the physical variety and the other of the moral," I shouted after him.
"No twaddle," said Jim, striding back. "Think of what I should be likely to say. Of course we all may pick up ideas outside as we have to write the blooming thing in form, but it must sound like me, not you."
"It will, Jim, after it has been through your mill, never fear. And I think eight inches produces strongest plants."
And then Jim slid down the bannisters and I heard him whistling in the garden; but that soon ceased, for you can't whistle when you are bent double.
I must say the row looked very nice when I reviewed it after breakfast. Jim had selected with great care! but the heaps of rejected plantlets lying on the gravel path caused my motherly heart a pang. What a shocking waste! Every tiny seed had come up and ten were growing where but one could find sufficient support for full development, so out must come the nine. Nature is wasteful, and so is human nature, but we can't weed out the overcrowded families; and do the fittest there always survive? Truly it would need courage to tackle that problem.
