"Well, let's see what you've got," said the mother as the foraging party returned.
"We've got some beauties," said the daughter—"real screams, haven't we, Mr. Gates?"
"Yes, I think we selected the pick of the bunch," said Mr. Gates complacently, speaking as a man of the world who knows a good thing when he sees it.
"My husband's a rare one for fun," said his wife. "A regular connoozer."
"There's a pretty girl at the postcard place," said the boy. "Mr. Gates didn't half get off with her, did you?"
Mr. Gates laughed the laugh of triumph.
"She's not bad-looking," he said, "but not quite my sort. Still—" He stroked his moustache.
"Now, Fred," said Mrs. Gates archly, "that'll do; let's see the cards."
"This one," said the girl, "is for Gus. He's been called up, you know, so we got him a military one. You see that girl the soldier's squeezing? She's rather like his young lady, you know, and it says, 'Come down to Brightbourne and learn how to carry on.' Gus'll show it to her."
The mother agreed that it was well chosen.