When the damage has been repaired and the car is once more
speeding along, leaving behind it mile after mile of dusty road
as well as father's best "jack" and set of tire tools, the small
boy will suddenly remark, "I'm hungry." His father will then
reply, "We'll be at a fine place to eat in ten minutes." Thirty
minutes later mother will remark, "Will, that looks like a good
place for a picnic over there." The father will reply, "No--we're
coming to a wonderful place--just trust me, Mary!" Twenty minutes
later Aunt Florence will say, "Will, I think that grove over
there would be fine for our lunch," to which the husband will
reply, "We're almost at the place I know about--it's ideal for a
picnic." Forty minutes after this, father will stop the car and
point to a clump of trees. "There," he will say, "what do you
think of that?" "Oh, we can't eat THERE!" will be the answer of
mother, daughter and Aunt Florence. "Drive on a bit further--I
think I know a place."
Three hours and thirty minutes later (i. e. four hours past your
normal lunch hour) there will be another puncture and as the car
stops beside a wheat field it will begin to rain, and the
daughter will sigh, "Well, we might as well eat here." The
"picnic" will then be held in the car, and nothing really quite
carries one back to nature and primeval man as does warm lemonade
and a lettuce sandwich in a Buick with the top up and side
curtains on.
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