Mother
understands how I'm crazy to drive the minute I can get my hands on
the wheel, so without an invitation I put her into the seat beside me
and took the driver's place myself. She settled down, same as she
always does, and remarked:
"It's always so good to have you drive. I never shall get quite the
form you have."
Which wasn't true a bit, for she drives just as well as I do--she
ought to, I taught her. But she has an awfully clever little trick of
making a fellow feel good, and I like it--who wouldn't? A lot of
mothers never lose an opportunity to take a son down a bit--though I
don't suppose one would whose son had come to say goodbye. That same
sort are the ones to weep on their boys' shoulders, though, I've
noticed.
We started off at a good clip, and right away Mother said:
"Now, tell me all about it," exactly as if I'd just won an
intercollegiate, or something like that.
So I told it all to her, and was glad of the chance. I hadn't had time
to write much about it, but I could talk fast enough, and I did; and
she listened--well, she listened just exactly as another fellow would.
I mean--you didn't have to colour the thing, or shave off anything, or
fix up any dope to ease it for her, because you knew she wanted it
straight.
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