So, naturally, you gave it to her straight--which is much
the best way, if people only realized it--for it's all got to come out
in the end. And when I was through, what do you suppose she said? Just
about the last thing you'd expect any mother to say:
"It's all perfectly great, and I don't wonder you want to go. Why, if
you didn't want to go, Jack, I should feel that I'd been the wrong
sort of mother."
Now, honestly, do you blame me? I looked down at her--I'm a good deal
taller than she is--and for a minute I wanted to get down in front of
her among the gear-shifts and put my head in her lap. But of course I
didn't do anything so idiotic as that. I just laughed and said: "Not
you,"--and put out my hand and squeezed hers--she'd left off her
motoring gloves. And she squeezed back, and looked up at me with those
black eyes of hers--and that was all there was of it, and we were off
again on details, with no scene to remember. A fellow doesn't like
scenes.
Well, then we got back to the house, and everybody was there--except
Dad, and he came soon. There were my two young sisters, Sally and Sue;
and my kid brother, Jimmy--mad as fury because he hadn't been told;
and Grandfather and Grandmother.
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