“Don't worry,” he said grimly. “He'll not do it again.”
“If we only had a car of our own—” Mrs. Wheeler protested.
“You know what I think about that, mother. I'm not going to have him joy-riding over the country, breaking his neck and getting into trouble. I've seen him driving Wallace Sayre's car, and he drives like a fool or a madman.”
It was an old dispute and a bitter one. Mr. Wheeler got up, whistled for the dog, and went out. His wife turned on Nina.
“I wish you wouldn't bring these things to your father, Nina,” she said. “He's been very nervous lately, and he isn't always fair to Jim.”
“Well, it's time Jim was fair to Leslie,” Nina said, with family frankness. “I'll tell you something, mother. Jim has a girl somewhere, in town probably. He takes her driving. I found a glove in the car. And he must be crazy about her, or he'd never do what he's done.”
“Do you know who it is?”
“No. Somebody's he's ashamed of, probably, or he wouldn't be so clandestine about it.”
“Nina!”
“Well, it looks like it. Jim's a man, mother. He's not a little boy. He'll go through his shady period, like the rest.”