It'll sound exactly like an air raid--only he won't have any bombs to
drop."

"He'll have himself to drop," her mother tactlessly pointed out. "I
guess he won't do much flying around in the dark, Mary V. Not if he's
got sense enough to come in when it rains. You go to bed, and don't be
setting out there in the mosquitoes. They're thick, to-night."

"Well, for gracious sake, mom! It's perfectly easy to fly at night.
Over in France they _always_--"

"It's the lightin' I'm talking about," her mother interrupted with that
terrible logic that insists upon stating unpleasant truths, "And this
ain't France, Mary V. You go on to bed. I'm going to turn out the
lights."

"And have him bump right into the house? A person would think you
wanted Johnny to smash himself all to pieces again! And it isn't going
to cost anything so terrible to leave the lights on for another little
minute, mom! A few cents' worth of gas will run the dynamo--"

"For land's sake, Mary V, don't go into a tantrum just at bedtime.
Who's talking about cost? Your father can't sleep with all the lights
turned on in the house, and neither can I. And it ain't a particle of
use for you to sit up and wait for Johnny; he won't come to-night, and
you needn't look for him."

Mary V did not want to hear a statement of that kind, even if it were a
mere argumentative flourish on the part of a selfish, unsympathetic
parent who would jeopardize a person's life rather than annoy herself