He knew his mother would be sick in bed about it, and she'd
cling round his neck and cry on his shoulder, and he'd have to loosen
her arms and go off leaving her feeling like that. And his father
would look grave and tell him not to mind, that his mother wasn't
well, and that she couldn't help it--and Hoofy really didn't think she
could, being made that way. Just the same, he dreaded going home to
say good-bye--dreaded it so much he felt like flunking it and wiring
he couldn't come.
I told him he mustn't do that--that his mother would never forgive
him, and that he'd have to put on a stiff upper lip and go through
with it. And Hoofy owned that that was the thing he was really afraid
of--that his upper lip wouldn't keep stiff but would wobble, in spite
of him. And of course a breakdown on his own part would be the worst
possible thing that could happen to him. No potential soldier wants to
feel his upper lip unreliable, no matter what happens. It's likely to
make him flinch in a critical moment, when flinching won't do.
I was looking up at a picture of Mother on the wall over my desk as I
advised him to go home, and he asked me suddenly what _my_ mother
wrote back when I told her.
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