"By the way, there is—er—no necessity to mention that little affair to your mother. Women brood over these things, and build up all sorts of vague horrors and possibilities of their own."
"Quite so," Jack admitted, very soberly, so that his father glanced quickly at him again. But they were at the house and there was no time for further questioning.
Jack's mother noticed his discoloured eye at once. "Oh, Jack, whatever have you been doing?"
"Only boxing, mother."
"I wish you'd be more careful; you're so violent. I'm sure cricket and lawn tennis are much nicer."
"They're nice enough, mater, but not nearly so useful."
There was a seriousness in the way he said it that made both father and mother look at him sharply. "Useful?"
He smiled, his calm, easy smile. "I mean to say, stokers and so on sometimes get abusive, you know, and in the interests of real peace it is best to know how to flatten 'em out if necessary."
"I wish Jack, you wouldn't use such slangy expressions."
"Very sorry, mater."