"No," said Woody shortly. Mr. Hartford groaned silently. He could recall a similar occasion in his own youth when his father had tried to talk to him man to man, and he had withheld his confidence. He was hurt that his son should do the same to him now.
"Son," said Mr. Hartford, "I never pry into your affairs. I look upon you as a sensible young man of whom I am proud. But I've lived a lot longer than you. That's a mathematical fact. I don't say I'm smarter than you. But I've just had more experience. Now if you've got some sort of a problem that's bothering you that I, with my experience, can help with, I wish you'd let me know about it."
"It's nothing, Dad," said Woody.
"Is it money?" Mr. Hartford persisted. Woody shook his head.
"Is it Mary Jane? I notice you haven't been seeing much of her lately." Woody hesitated. He missed Mary Jane a great deal. At one time he might have been able to talk his problem over with her. But she was so dead set against racing that all she would tell him would be to give it up. She wouldn't understand that there was more than racing involved in the problem.
"No, Dad," Woody said, "It isn't Mary Jane. It's really nothing at all. I just don't feel well. I think I'll go for a walk." He left the room rather hurriedly, for he wanted to avoid further questioning. When he had gone, Mrs. Hartford came in.
"Did you find out anything?" she asked.
"No," replied her husband. "There's something the matter, but only time will bring it out. The boy has some problem, and feels he ought to keep it to himself."
"But we're his parents," said Mrs. Hartford. "Surely he should be able to tell us."
Mr. Hartford smiled. "Mother," he said, "when a boy decides not to discuss his troubles with his parents, it doesn't mean that he doesn't love them any more. It means that he's becoming a man. I'm pretty proud of Woody. I'd have been just a little disappointed if he'd broken down and told me what was the matter with him."