“Good heavens,” said Gin impatiently. “I’m not advising you. I feel like a mess myself, lots of times. I hate Rita as much as you do, and you know it. Even if I could act that way I wouldn’t: I’m not sure I even want to. But what can you do about it? The trouble with you is——”
“Your cigarette went out,” said Flo. “Yes, darling, what is the trouble with me?”
“You’re feeling your oats,” said Gin. “It makes you expect too much of the world, feeling your oats. You can’t help thinking there must be something to do about it. There isn’t; because whatever you do about it, it’s not settled.”
“Where did you find all this out, Grandma?”
“Well,” said Gin. “I tried a lot of things and what I didn’t try, somebody else did. This town is full of people who try to do something about it. Only the dumb ones have a good time at all. People who believe they are being noble, like Rex and Ada living together. Just the idea that they are being bad keeps them going: they won’t have to do another thing all their lives. They’re living up to a principle.”
“But nobody cares.”
“Well, how do they know that? They’re happy and they give us something to tell the dudes about. I’ve got to go home. Where do you go tomorrow? Have you looked at the chart?”
“They haven’t decided yet about Mesa Verde. If I do go, I won’t have enough clean shirts. How many could you lend me in an emergency?”
“Only one. Don’t let me catch you taking more. I may be sent somewhere myself.”
They paid the bill, scrupulously dividing it, and walked home in silence. As they turned in the gate Flo said,