Free Sister of the Bride by Beverly Cleary Page B

Barbara vaguely. “He doesn’t go to museums and concerts and things like that.”
    â€œAnd neither did Rosemary until she went away to college,” Mrs. MacLane pointed out. “And if that is her definition of culture, I’m afraid your father and I don’t measure up either. At least not for a long time. Not since we had three children.”
    â€œHe’s probably been too busy earning money, so he could educate his family,” said Mr. MacLane, leaning back in his chair once more. “The poor fellow probably hasn’t had time to do anything else, with three children in college. Too busy keeping his nose to the grindstone.”
    â€œGreg has supported himself since he went into the air force,” Barbara informed her father.
    â€œWell, don’t keep us in suspense. Tell us all,” said Mrs. MacLane. “What did Rosemary say about Greg’s mother?”
    â€œOh, she’s all right, I guess,” said Barbara. “Anyway, Rosemary says Greg doesn’t let her bother him anymore. He’s very mature about it. She used to bother him until he went into the air force, but he’s past that stage now. He says she’s a nice gal.” Barbara was not prepared for her parents’ reaction to this bit of information.
    â€œWell!” said her mother.
    â€œI’ll be darned,” said her father.
    Barbara was anxious to make her parents understand. “But Rosemary says it’s important to rebel against your parents. Otherwise, nobody ever grows up.”
    â€œOh, she does, does she?” Mr. MacLane knocked the ash off his cigar into the ashtray Barbara had fetched when dessert was finished.
    â€œI suppose in a way she’s right,” reflected Mrs. MacLane, “but somehow I don’t like her to be so blunt about it.”
    â€œIt seems to me,” said Mr. MacLane, “that eversince Rosemary has been going to the university she has been talking like someone who has read a book on psychology.”
    â€œI don’t know why,” puzzled Mrs. MacLane. “She isn’t even taking psychology.”
    Barbara had the explanation. “But her roommate is. Millie is majoring in psychology. Rosemary learns a lot from her.”
    â€œHow nice,” said Mrs. MacLane dryly. “I am so glad we are to share in the benefits of Millie’s college education.”
    Mr. MacLane exhaled a large blue cloud of smoke. “Well, let me tell you something. Someday some mother is going to rebel against her children; and when she does, I will be the first to contribute to a statue in her honor, to be placed downtown in the center of the plaza. A bronze statue. And each year on Mother’s Day I shall personally lay a wreath at her feet.”
    â€œOh, Dad.” Barbara’s tone implied, Don’t be silly. “Rosemary says—”
    Mrs. MacLane interrupted. Apparently she did not want to hear any more of what Rosemary had to say. “At least we know Greg’s mother is a nice gal. Or so Greg says. Shall we ask the Aldredges for Sunday night supper or shall we not? If we do wehad better have them soon, because June is coming closer every day.”
    â€œSure,” agreed Mr. MacLane expansively. “The old man and I ought to get along just fine. We can talk about baseball and other nonintellectual subjects.”
    â€œDad, please don’t make a big thing out of what Greg said.” Barbara was impatient, more with herself than with her father. Knowing her father’s talent for worrying a subject the way a dog worries a bone, she never should have repeated verbatim what Rosemary had confided, but somehow the remarks about Greg’s parents had sounded different when Rosemary had made them. Barbara had been impressed by Rosemary’s and Greg’s adult, detached attitude. They had seemed so emancipated, so mature. But now she was no longer certain. Maybe they were just