“Yes, yes! But what is play but practice for reality? And how shall love be learned in savage war-dances?”
They tell us that we have a new generation of young people since the war; a generation which thinks for itself, and has its own way. I was an advocate of this idea in the abstract, but I must admit that I was startled by the concrete case which I now encountered. Bertie suddenly looked round from his place in the driver's seat. “Say,” he demanded, in a grating voice, “where was that guy raised?”
“Bertie dear!” cried his mother. “Don't be rude!”
“I'm not being rude,” replied the other. “I just want to know where he got his nut ideas.”
“Bertie dear!” cried the mother, again; and you knew that for eighteen or nineteen years she had been crying “Bertie dear!”—in a tone in which rebuke was tempered by fatuous maternal admiration. And all the time, Bertie had gone on doing what he pleased, knowing that in her secret heart his mother was smiling with admiration of his masterfulness, taking it as one more symptom of the greatness of the Stebbins line. I could see him in early childhood, stamping on the floor and commanding his governess to bring him a handkerchief—and throwing his shoe at her when she delayed!
Presently it was Lucinda's turn. Lucinda, you understand, was in revolt against the social indignity which her mother had inflicted upon her. When Carpenter had entered the car, she had looked at him once, with a deliberate stare, then lifted her chin, ignoring my effort to introduce him to her. Since then she had sat silent, cold, and proud. But now she spoke. “Mother, tell me, do we have to meet those horrid fat old Jews again?”
Mrs. Stebbins wisely decided that this was not a good time to explore the soul of a possible Eastern potentate. Instead, she elected to talk for a minute or two about a lawn fete she was planning to give next week for the benefit of the Polish relief. “Poland is the World's Bulwark against Bolshevism,” she explained; and then added: “Bertie dear, aren't you driving recklessly?”
Bertie turned his head. “Didn't you hear me tell that old sheeny I was going to beat him to it?”
“But, Bertie dear, this street is crowded!”
“Well, let them look out for themselves!”