Transvestia

"I'm afraid you don't." said Mrs. Boyle.

"Well in God's name, what happened?" snapped Miss Quinn, her patience quite at an end.

"Well it worked and it didn't. Last year, my son insisted that he be allowed to go on and study for a profession. I wanted him to stay at home. Well, he won the arguments. I wasn't happy about it but he quite rightly pointed out that he certainly couldn't marry and have a family, and that that was his only choice. Well, he decided to go into nursing."

"Why?"

"Well, I suppose because he wouldn't make a very good truck-driver." said Mrs. Boyle. "However, it seems that now the whole problem has been solved, thanks to you, dear Miss Quina. How can I thank you?"

"A-bah, bah," babbled Miss Quinn momentarily. She was saved by the entrance of Boyle. He had changed from his blue uniform. An impartial observer would have noted the attractiveness of the ensemble he wore.

"Thank you, dear," said Mrs. Boyle. "I wonder if you would run back to the office and see if the manager can give us some dishes so that we may all enjoy some sherbert."

"Of course, mother," said her son, turning neatly on his heels. When the clack of his heels had dis- appeared, Mrs. Boyle leaned over to whisper in Miss Quinn's ear:

"What I really wanted to know was--how in the world did you ever talk him into wearing dresses again?"

"Oh," said Miss Quinn, settling back in her chair comfortably, "It was easy."

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