I was conscious of their hilarious greetings as I strolled up the street, trying to walk in a straight masculine way, but hideously conscious of blushing cheeks and nervous gait.

I so far forgot myself that, in my eagerness to display my male superiority, I jostled against a lady, and disgraced myself by swaggering on without even apologising for my rudeness--when, to my consternation, the lady uttered my name, "Tommy." It was my mother! I was still within sight of the office.

How Evans and his lot would make merry over this _contretemps_! They wouldn't know who it was who was putting her hand on my shoulder.

And yet I am glad to say that I was spared that day the disgrace of being ashamed of my own dear mother.

Let the fellows think what they liked.