egards this fact is apt to find to his (or her) sorrow that the
"shoe" in this case is decidedly "on the other foot."

A young man, for example, is often asked by a young lady to accompany
her on a "family picnic." To this invitation he should, after some
consideration, reply either "Yes" or "No," and if the former, he should
present himself at the young lady's house promptly on the day set for
the affair (usually Sunday).

A "family picnic" generally consists of a Buick, a father, a mother, a
daughter, a small son, beef loaf, lettuce sandwiches, a young man (you),
two blow-outs, one spare tire, and Aunt Florence.

The father drives with his small boy beside him; in the rear are the
mother, the daughter, Aunt Florence, the thermos bottles, the lunch
baskets and you. As you take your seat you must remember that it is
a distinct evidence of bad breeding to show in any way that you are
conscious of the fact that the car has been standing for the last hour
and forty-four minutes in the hot July sun.

"We're off!" cries father, pressing his foot on the self-starting pedal.
Thirty minutes later you roll away from the curb and the picnic has
begun. The intervening time has, of course, been profitably spent by you
in walking to the nearest garage for two new sparkplugs.

It should be your duty, as guest, to see that the conversation in the
rear seat is not allowed to lag. "It's a great day," you remark, as the
car speeds along. "I think it's going to rain," replies Aunt Florence.
"Not too fast, Will!" says mother. "Mother!" says the daughter.

Ten minutes later you should again remark, "My, what a wonderful day!"
"Those clouds are gathering in the west," says Aunt Florence, "I think
we had better put the top up." "I think this is the wrong road," says
mother.

"Dear, I know what I'm doing," replies father.

The secret of good conversation lies in discovering the "hobby" of the
person with whom one is conversing, and a good talker always throws out
several "feelers" in order to find out the things in which his partner
is most interested. You should, therefore, next say to mother, "Don't
you think this is a glorious day for a picnic?" to which she will reply,
"Well, I'm sure this is the wrong road. Hadn't you better ask?" The
husband will answer nothing, but Aunt Florence will murmur, "I think I
felt a drop of rain, Will. If you don't put the top up now, we'll all be
drenched."

The husband will then stop the car, and y