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was when young Iris was started.) Yes, that was the only time he had ever seen his Millie shed tears. Upset because his meal was spoilt. Just like Millie. Always thinking of him and the children, never of herself. So he always took care—Millie called it worrying, he called it taking care—to let her know when he was going to be out late, or come in early. That’s why he had been careful to tell her last night, Sunday, after supper, as they all sat round supping a bedtime cup of tea:
    â€œDon’t get in a panic now, if I’m late or early back tomorrow—I’m going out to buy a new machine with the boss.”
    Then what must young Kenneth do but up and ask if Ernest would be passing anywhere near Ashworth Town Hall.
    â€œFor if you are, dad,” said he, “you might renew my driving licence for me, eh?”
    Well, that was the younger generation for you. He’d reminded Kenneth and reminded him, over and over again, that his driving licence—he drove one of those motor-bikes, very unsafe Ernest thought it, particularly when he had his girl Edna planted on the back; the way they swerved round corners was nobody’s business—was due on Monday, and with driving licences there were no days of grace allowed. He’d even brought Kenneth the necessary form. But still he hadn’t renewed the licence. True, the engineering firm where Kenneth worked stood on a hill a good way out of town, so it wasn’t easy for him to get to the Borough Treasurer’s office in the Town Hall on a weekday. But there was Saturday morning, as Ernest explained to Kenneth; he could have renewed the licence then.
    â€œThe office closes at eleven-thirty on Saturdays, dad,” said Kenneth.
    Ernest was rather taken aback, but rallied.
    â€œIf you young chaps left your beds a little earlier, Ken,” he began.
    But Iris interrupted.
    â€œOh, don’t be such a Malvolio, dad,” she said.
    â€œYou have the advantage of me there, Iris,” said Ernest seriously. “I don’t know what that is.”
    â€œOh, well, never mind, dad. I daresay he wasn’t the same at home. Not to worry, as they say,” said Iris, dropping a kiss on his bald spot as she passed on her way to the teapot. “Have another cuppa.”
    â€œWell, you know your dad,” said Millie comfortably, passing Kenneth’s licence and form across to Ernest. “Ernest by name and earnest by nature. You can’t hardly expect him to change at his time of life.”
    Ernest, stowing the form and the little red book neatly away in his wallet, had pondered. Not to worry! That was what the doctor had said. But how could he help worrying? There was so much to worry about. He’d always thought so; he’d thought so last night and he certainly hadn’t changed his mind today.
    â€œI think I shall buy it, choose how,” said Mr. Arnold at this point in a jocular tone. “We need another cropper, you know, Ernest.”
    There you were, you see! A new machine to be installed! Plenty to worry about, coming up!
    â€œWell—it mightn’t be so bad if we altered it a bit to suit us own idea, like. It’ll do delicate work and run fast,” agreed Ernest grudgingly.
    Always new machines, running faster and faster, and complete automation just round the corner. (Ernest spared a thought here for his father the driver, superseded by the motor lorry.) But that was the least of it. If automation came, it came; he could do nothing about it one way or another. It wasthe things he was so to say responsible for which worried Ernest. Nuclear fission now—these bombs. Should we make them? Should we test them? Was Russia sincere? Was America over-bossy? (The antics of their Trades Unions made Ernest gravely shake his head. As for the Russians, they had no T.U.’s as he understood the term.)
    But these things too, troubling though they were, did not worry Ernest as much as