Also, I was brought up with kids—ten in my father’s family; eight of them younger than me; all boys but the last one. And then, too, after my marriage, the wife’s nieces, Josephine, Donna, and Lucile Cole; Virginia, Ruth, and Betty Hyre; and Mary Jane Hall, were in turn very much in our home—which, altogether, has instilled in me a profound respect for the kids. Girls preferred. Cloy spent the first five years of her life in my home—separate apartment. When she was about one year old, I often carried her down town and got her an ice cream cone. She was just beginning to walk, that awkward period when a child has to spraddle and step fast to hold its equilibrium. At times when she would be with her mother on the settee at the north end of the 22-foot front porch when I might choose to come around from my apartment to the south end, she would make known to her mother her desire to be put down on the floor, and she would come cooing with outstretched arms for me to pick her up. And while she could not talk, her mind was, I’m sure, on a cone somewhere down town. I never aimed to disappoint her — but one time when I had been working in my Rose Garden and was plenty tired, I tried to talk her out of it, put her off. She could not understand all I was saying, of course—but she caught the general idea all right. Never again did she come a-cooing to me with outstretched arms. This is not to say we did not get more cones. When Cloy was about four years old, she had a line-up for me to participate in a social activity of the family. I said, “No, Cloy, I couldn’t do that—I don’t belong. She said, “Well, gee—you’re one of us, ain’t you?” image5 When hardly five years old, Cloy found me, at night, standing on the old National Bank corner. She asked me if I would give her a nickel—said she had one nickel, and wanted to buy a 10-cent lipstick at the Wells store for her mother. I said, “Cloy, your mother does not use lipstick.” “Oh yes she does,” said Cloy, “the kind that don’t show.” I did not have a nickel, and offered to go with her to the Wells store. She said, “Can’t you get the change at the drugstore?” I said, “Come along, I’ll get it for you,” and headed for the restaurant operated by her father and mother and her aunt Genevieve Weaver. As we were passing the drugstore, she said, “Get it in here.” I said, “No, let’s go to the restaurant.” She said, “Well, bring it to me here”—and she sat down on a bench. When I gave her the nickel, she skipped across the street to the Wells store—and I went back to the restaurant. In a little while she came in with her purchase, grinning. She opened it, and proceeded at once to paint her fingernails right before her parents, still grinning. Nellie said Cloy had “deviled” them for that extra nickel to get the nail polish — and that they had turned her down. It was plain then why she had said to me, “I knowed durn shore if I’d find you, I’d get it.”