eyebrows at Es, who nodded vigorously and took the receiver.
"Hullo, Miss Horton, this is Tim's mother here. . . Yes, I'm very well, thank you, how are you? . . . Oh, that's nice to hear . . . Miss Horton, it's very thoughtful of you to think of inviting Tim to go with you this weekend . . . Yes, he is a bit lonely, it's hard for a poor chap like him, you know . . . I really can't see any reason why Tim couldn't go with you, I think the change would do him good . . . Yes, he does like you an awful lot . . . Let me hand you back to my husband, Miss Horton, and thank you very, very much."
"Miss Horton?" Ron asked, snatching the receiver from his wife. "Well, you heard the Old Woman, it's all right with her, and if it's all right with her it had better be all right with me, ha-ha-ha! Yeah, right you are! Okay, I'll see he packs a bag and gets to your place by seven on this Sat-iddy morning . . . Right, Miss Horton, thank you very much . . . Bye bye now, and ta again."
Mary had planned the sixty-mile trip as a picnic, and had jammed the back of the car with provisions, diversions, and comforts she thought the summer cottage might lack. Tim arrived promptly at seven on Saturday morning. The day was fine and clear, the second weekend in a row that it had not threatened rain, and Mary shepherded Tim out to the garage immediately.
"Hop in, Tim, and make yourself comfortable. Are you all right?"
"All right," he answered.
"My house is not in Gosford itself," she said as the car headed out along the Pacific highway in the direction of Newcastle. "Living and working in the city, I didn't want to have a holiday cottage right in the middle of another crowd of people, so I bought a property quite a way out, on the Hawkes-bury near Broken Bay. We have to go into Gosford because the only road to my place starts there, you see.
"My word, how Gosford has grown! I remember it when it used to consist of a pub, a garage, two men, and a dog; now it's jammed with commuters and vacationers, there must be sixty thousand of them at least, it seems. ..."
She trailed off nervously, glancing sidelong at him in sudden embarrassment. There she was, trying to make conversation with him as though he was somewhat like the person she imagined his mother might be. In his turn he was trying to be an interested auditor, snatching his fascinated glance away from the passing landscape every so often to fix his bright, loving eyes on her profile.
"Poor Tim," she sighed. "Don't take any notice of me, just relax and look out the window."
For a long time after that there was silence. Tim was obviously enjoying the journey, turned side on with his nose almost against the window, not missing a thing, and it made her wonder just how much variety there was in his life, how often he was lifted out of what must be a very humdrum existence.
"Does your father have a car, Tim?"
He didn't bother to turn and face her this time, but continued to look out the window. "No, he says it's a waste of time and money in the city. He says it's much healthier to walk, and much less trouble to catch the bus when you need to ride in something."
"Does anyone ever take you out for a drive?"
"Not very often, I get carsick."
She turned her head to stare at him, alarmed. "How do you feel now? Do you feel sick?"
"No, I feel good. This car doesn't bump me up and down like most cars, and anyway, I'm in the front not the back, so it doesn't bump as much, does it?"
"Very good, Tim! That's quite right. If you should feel sick you'll tell me in plenty of time, though, won't you? It isn't very nice if you make a mess in the car."
"I promise I'll tell you, Mary, because you never yell at me or get cranky."
She laughed. "Now, Tim! Don't be martyrish! I'm quite sure no one yells at you or gets cranky with you very often, and only then if you deserve it."
"Well, yes," he grinned. "But Mum gets real mad if I'm sick all over everything."
"I don't blame her in the least. I'd get real mad too,
"Hullo, Miss Horton, this is Tim's mother here. . . Yes, I'm very well, thank you, how are you? . . . Oh, that's nice to hear . . . Miss Horton, it's very thoughtful of you to think of inviting Tim to go with you this weekend . . . Yes, he is a bit lonely, it's hard for a poor chap like him, you know . . . I really can't see any reason why Tim couldn't go with you, I think the change would do him good . . . Yes, he does like you an awful lot . . . Let me hand you back to my husband, Miss Horton, and thank you very, very much."
"Miss Horton?" Ron asked, snatching the receiver from his wife. "Well, you heard the Old Woman, it's all right with her, and if it's all right with her it had better be all right with me, ha-ha-ha! Yeah, right you are! Okay, I'll see he packs a bag and gets to your place by seven on this Sat-iddy morning . . . Right, Miss Horton, thank you very much . . . Bye bye now, and ta again."
Mary had planned the sixty-mile trip as a picnic, and had jammed the back of the car with provisions, diversions, and comforts she thought the summer cottage might lack. Tim arrived promptly at seven on Saturday morning. The day was fine and clear, the second weekend in a row that it had not threatened rain, and Mary shepherded Tim out to the garage immediately.
"Hop in, Tim, and make yourself comfortable. Are you all right?"
"All right," he answered.
"My house is not in Gosford itself," she said as the car headed out along the Pacific highway in the direction of Newcastle. "Living and working in the city, I didn't want to have a holiday cottage right in the middle of another crowd of people, so I bought a property quite a way out, on the Hawkes-bury near Broken Bay. We have to go into Gosford because the only road to my place starts there, you see.
"My word, how Gosford has grown! I remember it when it used to consist of a pub, a garage, two men, and a dog; now it's jammed with commuters and vacationers, there must be sixty thousand of them at least, it seems. ..."
She trailed off nervously, glancing sidelong at him in sudden embarrassment. There she was, trying to make conversation with him as though he was somewhat like the person she imagined his mother might be. In his turn he was trying to be an interested auditor, snatching his fascinated glance away from the passing landscape every so often to fix his bright, loving eyes on her profile.
"Poor Tim," she sighed. "Don't take any notice of me, just relax and look out the window."
For a long time after that there was silence. Tim was obviously enjoying the journey, turned side on with his nose almost against the window, not missing a thing, and it made her wonder just how much variety there was in his life, how often he was lifted out of what must be a very humdrum existence.
"Does your father have a car, Tim?"
He didn't bother to turn and face her this time, but continued to look out the window. "No, he says it's a waste of time and money in the city. He says it's much healthier to walk, and much less trouble to catch the bus when you need to ride in something."
"Does anyone ever take you out for a drive?"
"Not very often, I get carsick."
She turned her head to stare at him, alarmed. "How do you feel now? Do you feel sick?"
"No, I feel good. This car doesn't bump me up and down like most cars, and anyway, I'm in the front not the back, so it doesn't bump as much, does it?"
"Very good, Tim! That's quite right. If you should feel sick you'll tell me in plenty of time, though, won't you? It isn't very nice if you make a mess in the car."
"I promise I'll tell you, Mary, because you never yell at me or get cranky."
She laughed. "Now, Tim! Don't be martyrish! I'm quite sure no one yells at you or gets cranky with you very often, and only then if you deserve it."
"Well, yes," he grinned. "But Mum gets real mad if I'm sick all over everything."
"I don't blame her in the least. I'd get real mad too,
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