“You’re feeling your oats,” said Gin. “It makes you expect too much of the world, feeling your oats. You can’t help thinking there must be something to do about it. There isn’t; because whatever you do about it, it’s not settled.” “Where did you find all this out, Grandma?” “Well,” said Gin. “I tried a lot of things and what I didn’t try, somebody else did. This town is full of people who try to do something about it. Only the dumb ones have a good time at all. People who believe they are being noble, like Rex and Ada living together. Just the idea that they are being bad keeps them going: they won’t have to do another thing all their lives. They’re living up to a principle.” “But nobody cares.” “Well, how do they know that? They’re happy and they give us something to tell the dudes about. I’ve got to go home. Where do you go tomorrow? Have you looked at the chart?” “They haven’t decided yet about Mesa Verde. If I do go, I won’t have enough clean shirts. How many could you lend me in an emergency?” “Only one. Don’t let me catch you taking more. I may be sent somewhere myself.” They paid the bill, scrupulously dividing it, and walked home in silence. As they turned in the gate Flo said, “Well, I’m going to do something. I’m going to get engaged.” “Yes? Who to?” “I don’t know. I probably haven’t met him yet, but I’m going to get engaged pretty soon. What’s more, I’m going to get married.” She threw her hat into the closet. “To the next man I meet, if I can. There must be something in it because so many people do it.” “Well,” Gin said, “it’s a big risk, I think. But I guess it’s your own business.” She thought about it for a long time while she rubbed cold cream on her face, in the bathroom. “Are you going to get a man with a mother, so you can visit her next summer?” she called through the open door. “If I can,” was the candid retort. Gin frowned into the mirror and began to apply a waver to her hair. After a tense moment of arranging the lock over the left temple she shouted, “Try to get a dude.” “I’ve never yet had an unmarried man on the Detour,” said Flo solemnly. “Well, then, a driver. Keep it in the family. There’s always at least one who has just had a divorce.” There was no answer to this. She tried again: “Write to the papers.” “Oh, shut up. I’m serious, I tell you.” “Well, you should be. It’s no laughing matter. Can I borrow a brassiere?” “No.” “Oh, go on and get married. I think it’s a swell idea. Name the first one after me and I’ll send it a rattle. Can I borrow a brassiere?” “There’s one in the bottom drawer.” “You’d better start buying a lot of brassieres,” Gin called, after inspecting the supply in the lower drawer. “Most of yours aren’t the right kind.” “What do you mean?” “You’d better buy a lot because girls who get engaged always wear very tight ones. Haven’t you noticed? They never flop. They don’t have to.” “You’re vulgar,” said Flo.