“Yes, or the bad egg.”
“Ho,” grunted Mumsie.
“A girl or a young man,” continued Uncle, with a grin, “makes a stab at society for two reasons. One is to have a good time with plenty of excitement; the other is chase and capture a partner in life. But with the average mother it’s the chance at a husband first. And this I’m sure of, that so far as the big game of dances, parties, and so on goes, it is sheer wasted money and often the ruin of a girl’s health.”
“Bosh!” from Mumsie, whereat I laughed.
“Then, too,” went on Uncle, after a mocking bow to his interrupting wife, “when the girl has got her husband, he is nearly always a waster. I am satisfied that the proportion of unfortunate matings made in your dizzy whirl is fifty per cent higher than in more sober circles. There now!”
“You seem to have strong ideas on the subject of matrimony,” I ventured.
“He’s got strong ideas on most subjects,” protested Mumsie, “and he’s poured them into my ears for twenty years. I’m fed up with his nonsense. Now that you’re here, he’s got a new victim. And, when Jack comes it will be worse and worse!” Mumsie pretended to be in despair. Who was “Jack”? At the mention of Jack I saw Uncle fumble in his pocket and produce a letter.
“Talk of the devil,” he said. “Jack will be here for Christmas.”
“Good! and now you’re in for it, Elsie,” cried Mumsie. “When these men have talked to you for a week, you may consider yourself master of the accumulated knowledge of the ages.”
Uncle made no effort to counter this sally, and Mumsie continued as if she had read the question I had in mind, the most natural question.