Mma Makutsi blurted out her answer. “I think I would, Mma. Thank you very much.”

Mma Ramotswe picked up the keys to the van. “Of course, there is a bit of a problem about seats. The van only has two seats in the cab, which means that somebody will need to sit in the back. That will not be very comfortable.”

“Me,” said Clovis Andersen.

“No,” snapped Mma Makutsi. “I will sit in the back, Mma.”

“I won’t hear of that,” said Clovis Andersen.

“But we cannot let you do that, Rra. You are a visitor to our country.”

“I insist,” said Clovis Andersen.

Mma Ramotswe drew Mma Makutsi aside. “You must let him,” she said. “Mr. Andersen is a gentleman, and he is thinking of the comfort of ladies. You must let him.”

Mma Makutsi yielded. It was a small thing, she knew, but a small thing that was, in its way, a big thing. And in the van, on the way into town, with Clovis Andersen bumping around in the back and unable to hear them, she said to Mma Ramotswe: “It is good that there are still gentlemen, Mma. Mr. Andersen, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, and Phuti. All gentlemen.”

“Yes, all of those are gentlemen,” said Mma Ramotswe. “And it is good that they are still there. Not only for ladies who want to ride in the front, but for all sorts of other reasons as well.”

Mma Makutsi pondered this. “Why are there fewer and fewer gentlemen, Mma Ramotswe?”

“It is our fault, Mma. It is the fault of ladies.”

“Why is that?”

“Because we have allowed men to stop behaving as gentlemen, and when you allow people to do what they wish, then that is what they do. They stop doing the things they need to do.” She looked at Mma Makutsi across the steering wheel. “That is well known, I think, Mma. That is well known.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

BETTER NAILS, BETTER LIFE

I NEVER WORRY about my nails,” said Mma Makutsi as they passed the Princess Marina Hospital. “We were taught at the Botswana Secretarial College that long nails were not a good thing if you have to do typing. We were told some very alarming stories.”

Mma Ramotswe was intrigued. “Alarming stories about nails?”

“Yes, Mma. There was one case, in the days of electric typewriters, of a secretary who got a shock when one of her nails went through the space between the keys. She became late as a result.”

Mma Ramotswe swerved the van slightly at the thought. But could you get a shock through a nail? A finger, certainly, but a nail? “Are you sure, Mma? Would electricity go through a fingernail?”

Mma Makutsi pursed her lips before answering. “It is true, Mma. Electricity can go through many things, not just wires. And there’s another thing—you can get long nails stuck in a filing cabinet when you close it. I have seen that happen, Mma.”