Cheaper by the Dozen

plant a flower garden, to paste in our scrap books, to collect California seeds which we intended to plant in our yard when we returned home. They took us to the movies, on sightseeing touts to Chinatown in San Francisco, and away for weekends at their summer cottage at Inverness. It seemed natural now for them to call us "dears," and we began to return the salutation without sarcasm or affectation. When dear Aunt Gertrude had herself hospitalized because she was afraid she was coming down with whooping cough and didn't want to infect us, we mourned her departure almost as if she had been Mother herself.
    Bill, meanwhile, had found a devoted friend and ally in the kitchen, where Chew Wong's word was law. Chew Wong was set in his ways and unamenable to suggestion. He was sinister looking and uncommunicative, and had a terrible temper. He understood English fairly well, except when someone tried to criticize him or tell him what to do. In such cases he launched into hissing Chinese, brandished skillets, and then turned his back and walked away. He was a wonderful cook. It was tacitly understood in the Moller family that the less one knew about his cooking methods and what he put into the food, the better for all concerned.
    Of the Mollers, only Aunt Elinor, who planned the menus, ventured into the kitchen. We children were advised to keep out of it unless we wished to invoke Oriental wrath, the in agony from some exotic poison, touch off a tong war, or go through life with the responsibility of hara-kiri hanging over our heads.
    Although aware of the possible consequences, Bill couldn't resist the smell of cakes and pies, and began to spend a good deal of his time in the kitchen. At first Aunt Elinor would hustle him out. But Chew Wong had taken a liking to him, and sulked when Bill was removed. Whenever Chew Wong sulked, his cooking suffered, and it finally was decided to allow Bill the run of the kitchen.
    Chew Wong ouI'did himself then with the meals that he served up, and the kitchen rang with pidgin English and cackling laughter.
    "Pleez now, Bleely, open mouth. Hi-hi-hi-hi-hi. Good boy, Bleely."
    We questioned Bill about what he opened his mouth for. He told us that when Chew Wong iced a cake he put the frosting in a cornucopia made of newspaper, bit off the end and squeezed the frosting onto the cake. At intervals, Bill would open his mouth and the cornucopia would be inserted. When the rest of us dropped into the kitchen to get a turn at the business end of the cornucopia, Chew Wong drove us out with a skillet, while he and Bill screamed with laughter. Hi-hi-hi-hi-hi.
    Sometimes, when Bill got into mischief in the kitchen, Chew Wong scolded him, picked him up, and threatened to put him in the oven. The cook opened the oven door and put Bill part way in it, where he could feel the heat on his face.
    "Blad boy, Bleely.Putee in oven and cookee brown and eatee. Hi-hi-hi."
    Bill knew it was a game, but it used to scare him, and he struggled and kicked.
    One afternoon Chew Wong opened the oven door and was leaning in, on tiptoe, to see whether a cake was browning on all sides. Bill crept up behind him, placed a shoulder against his rear and hunched. Then he held him there.
    "Blad boy, Wong," he said in a sing-song imitation of the cook. "Bleely putee in oven and cookee brown and eatee. Hi-hi-hi-hi."
    Aunt Elinor was in the pantry and heard the conversation and Chew Wong's screams. By the time she rushed into the kitchen, the cook had extricated himself, had both hands under the cold water faucet, and was squealing with rage. Other Mollers and Gilbreths converged on the kitchen from various parts of the house.
    Since she was responsible for the kitchen, Aunt Elinor decided it was up to her to take Bill to task.
    "Billy Gilbreth," she said almost sternly. "You haven't behaved like a gentleman."

    The visit came to an end, and we put on our traveling clothes and climbed again into the limousines. We were accustomed to them now, and we didn't hesitate to roll down the windows, put out our hands, and tell road hogs what we thought of them. The Mollers didn't seem to mind; they seemed to enjoy it. Even Henrietta still at rigid attention, grinned when hands popped out as he wheeled his car sedately around the corners.
    We said goodbye on the station platform. It didn't seem sissy to Bill to be kissed now. He returned the kisses.
    We got on the train and pressed our noses against the glass.
    "One thing I can't get over,"