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.”