"Yes," I said, "I've kept an eye on them occasionally. It's a bit
difficult, by the way, not to see them, isn't it?"

"Well," she said, "perhaps they are rather striking."

"Striking!" I said. "I never heard a more inadequate word. I call them
simply overwhelming--the steam-rollers of the vegetable world. Look at
their great yellow open faces."

"I never," said Francesca, "saw a steam-roller with a face. You're
mixing your metaphors."

"And," I said, "I shall go on mixing them as long as you grow
sunflowers. It's the very least a man can do by way of protest."

"I don't know why you should want to protest. The seed makes very good
chicken-food."

"Yes, I know," I said, "that's what you always said."

"And I bet," she said, "you've repeated it. When you've met the tame
Generals and Colonels at your club, and they've boasted to you about
their potatoes, I know you've countered them with the story of how
you've turned the whole of your lawn into a bed of sunflowers calculated
to drive the most obstinate hen into laying two eggs a day, rain or
shine."

"I admit," I said, "that I may have mentioned the matter casually, but I
never thought the things were going to be like this. When I first knew
them and talked about them they were tender little shoots of green just