IV
“Ted’s a good boy,” he said to Mrs. Babbitt.
“Oh, he is!”
“Who’s these girls he’s going to pick up? Are they nice decent girls?”
“I don’t know. Oh dear, Ted never tells me anything any more. I don’t understand what’s come over the children of this generation. I used to have to tell Papa and Mama everything, but seems like the children to-day have just slipped away from all control.”
“I hope they’re decent girls. Course Ted’s no longer a kid, and I wouldn’t want him to, uh, get mixed up and everything.”
“George: I wonder if you oughtn’t to take him aside and tell him about— Things!” She blushed and lowered her eyes.
“Well, I don’t know. Way I figure it, Myra, no sense suggesting a lot of Things to a boy’s mind. Think up enough devilment by himself. But I wonder— It’s kind of a hard question. Wonder what Littlefield thinks about it?”
“Course Papa agrees with you. He says all this—Instruction—is— He says ’tisn’t decent.”
“Oh, he does, does he! Well, let me tell you that whatever Henry T. Thompson thinks—about morals, I mean, though course you can’t beat the old duffer—”