Ma always wore a boudoir cap of draggled lace and ribbon for motoring. Nick almost never offered her a ride. She did not expect him to.

She pushed him playfully. “Go on! You got plenty young girls to take riding, not your ma.”

“Oh, girls!” he said, scornfully. Then in another tone: “Girls.”

He was off. It was almost seven. Pa was late. He caught a car back to Fifty-third Street. Elmer was lounging in the cool doorway of the garage. Nick, in sheer exuberance of spirits, squared off, doubled his fists, and danced about Elmer in a semicircle, working his arms as a prizefighter does, warily. He jabbed at Elmer’s jaw playfully.

“What you been doing,” inquired that long-suffering gentleman,