“I wonder if there’s anything to eat in the house,” her son said.
“I wonder.” They moved together toward the ice-box.
“Mother,” said Pete, “that piece of pie has been in the ice-box at least three days. Let’s throw it away.”
She took the saucer thoughtfully.
“I like it so much,” she said.
“Then why don’t you eat it?”
“It’s not good for me.” She let Wayne take the saucer. “What do you know?” she asked.
She had adopted slang as she adopted most labor-saving devices.
“Well, I do know something new,” said Wayne. He sat down on the kitchen table and poured out his tea. “New as the garden of Eden. I’m in love.”
“O Pete!” his mother cried, and the purest, most conventional maternal agony was in the tone. For an instant, crushed and terrified, she looked at him; and then something gay and impish appeared in her eyes, and she asked with a grin: