Cheaper by the Dozen

States. Probably she was a very kind, gracious woman, but she was a principal, and we were scared of her. All but Dad,
    "Good morning, Ma'am," he said, with another bow. "I'm Gilbreth."
    "How do you do. I've heard of you."
    "Only four of them enroll here," Dad said, nodding toward us. "I brought the other three along so that you could get a better idea of the crop we're raising. Red heads mostly. Some blondes. All speckled."

    "Just so. I'll take care of everything, Mr. Gilbreth. And I'm glad you dropped in."
    "Wait a minute," said Dad. I'm not just dropping in. I want to meet their teachers and see what grades they're going in. I'm not in any hurry. I've arranged my schedule so that I can give you my entire morning."
    "I'll be glad to introduce you to the teachers, Mr. Gilbreth. As to the classes they will enter, that depends on their ages."
    "Hold on, hold on," Dad put in. "Depends on age, yes. Mental age. Come here, Bill. How old are you? Eight, isn't it?" Bill nodded.
    "What grade do eight-year-olds usually belong in?"
    "The third," the principal replied.
    "I want him in the fifth, please."
    "The fourth," said the principal. But you could tell that she was beaten.
    "Ma'am," said Dad. "Do you know the capital of Colombia? Do you know the population of Des Moines, according to the 1910 census? I know you do, being the principal. So does Bill, here. So does little Jackie, but I had to leave him home. It's time for his bottle."
    "The fifth," said the principal.
    After we were enrolled came the surprise visits that we used to dread, because Dad seemed to break all the school rules. He went in doors marked "Out," he went up stairs marked "Down," and he sometimes even wore his hat in the corridors. For any one of these offenses, a child might be kept after school for a week; for all three, he might be sent to reform school until his beard grew down to his knees. But the teachers always seemed to enjoy Dad's visits and the attention he gave them, and the principals—even the Nishuane principal—always were after him to speak at the school assemblies.
    "If you had half the sense, or the manners, of your father or your mother," the teachers used to say, when they'd scold one of us.
    Sometimes the class would be right in the middle of saluting the flag, when in would burst Dad, with a grin stretching from ear to ear. Even the kindergarten children knew of the inflexible rule against entering a room while the flag was being saluted. No pupil would have dared to do so, even to spread an alarm of fire, monsoon or the black plague. Yet, there was Dad. The floor seemed to rock while you waited for Miss Billsop to bare her fangs and spring. But, instead, Miss Billsop would grin right back at him. Then Dad would salute the flag, too, and you'd hear his deep voice booming over that of the class: "One nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."
    Everybody in school knew that the Lord's Prayer followed the salute to the flag, and after that "justice for all" you were supposed to sit down and bow your head on your desk, with your eyes closed, waiting for the teacher to lead off with "Our Father, Who art in Heaven." And there was Dad.
    "Good morning, Miss Billsop," he'd say. Then—and this was the worst of all—"Hello, Frank, Junior. I see you hiding behind that book. Sort of a surprise visit, eh? Hello, shavers. Excuse me for interrupting you. I'm Frank, Junior's, father.
    I won't take up much of your teacher's time. Then she can get back to the lessons I know you love so well."
    The class would laugh, and Dad would laugh with them. He really loved kids.
    "How is he getting alone, Miss Billsop?" (Once he called her Milksop, by mistake, and sent her a dozen roses later that morning, as an apology.) "What's the story? Is he keeping up with his work? Does he need to study more at home? You're doing a fine job with him, and he's always quoting you around the house. Do you think he can skip the next grade? If he doesn't behave himself, just let me know."
    Dad would listen to Miss Billsop for a few minutes, then drop you what might have been a wink, and burst out of the room again, to go to the classroom of another Gilbreth child.
    Miss Billsop would still be smiling when she'd turn to the class.
    "Now children, we will bow our heads, close our eyes, and repeat the Lord's Prayer."
    You'd wait anxiously for recess, knowing that you were going to have to fight if anyone so much as hinted that your was a fat man, or that he