Cheaper by the Dozen

except Martha were stricken simultaneously. Two big adjoining bedrooms upstairs were converted into hospital wards—one for the boys and the other for the girls. We suffered together for two or three miserable, feverish, itchy days, while Mother applied cocoa butter and ice packs. Dr. Burton, who had delivered most of us, said there was nothing to worry about.
    He was an outspoken man, and he and Dad understood each other.
    "I'll admit, Gilbreth, that your children don't get sick very often," Dr. Burton said, "but when they do it messes up the public health statistics for the entire state of New Jersey."
    "How come, Mr. Bones?" Dad asked.
    "I have to turn in a report every week on the number of contagious diseases I handle. Ordinarily, I handle a couple of cases of measles a week. When I report that I had eleven cases in a single day, they're liable to quarantine the whole town of Montclair and close up every school in Essex County."
    "Well, they're probably exceptionally light cases," Dad said.
    "Pioneer stock, you know."
    "As far as I'm concerned, measles is measles, and they've got the measles."
    "Probably even pioneers got the measles," Dad said.
    "Probably so. Pioneers had tonsils, too, and so do your kids. Really ugly tonsils. They ought to come out."
    "I never had mine out."
    "Let me see them," Dr. Burton ordered.
    "There's nothing the matter with them"
    "For God's sake don't waste my time," said Dr. Burton. "Open your mouth and say 'Ah'."
    Dad opened his mouth and said "Ah."
    "I thought so," Dr. Burton nodded. "Yours ought to come out too. Should have had them taken out years ago. I don't expect you to admit it, but you have sore throats, don't you? You have one right this minute, haven't you?"
    "Nonsense," said Dad. "Never sick a day in my life."
    "Well, let yours stay in if you want. You're not hurting anybody but yourself. But you really should have the children's taken out."
    "I'll talk it over with Lillie," Dad promised.
    Once the fever from the measles had gone, we all felt fine, although we still had to stay in bed. We sang songs, told continued stories, played spelling games and riddles, and had pillow fights. Dad spent considerable time with us, joining in the songs and all the games except pillow fights, which were illegal. He still believed in letting sick children alone, but with all of us sick—of all but Martha, at any rate—he became so lonesome he couldn't stay away.
    He came into the wards one night after supper, and took a chair over in a corner. We noticed that his face was covered with spots.
    "Daddy," asked Anne, "what's the matter with you? You're all broken out in spots."
    "You're imagining things," said Dad, smirking. "I'm all right."
    "You've got the measles."
    "I'm all right," said Dad. "I can take it."
    "Daddy's got the measles, Daddy's got the measles." Dad sat there grinning, but our shouts were enough to bring Grandma on the run.
    "What's the matter here?" she asked. And then to Dad. "Mercy sakes, Frank, you're covered with spots."
    "It's just a joke," Dad told his mother, weakly.
    "Get yourself to bed. A man your age ought to know better. Shame on you."
    Grandma fumbled down her dress and put on her glasses. She peered into Dad's face.
    "I declare, Frank Gilbreth," she told him, "sometimes I think you're more trouble than all of your children. Red ink! And you think it's a joke to scare a body half to death. Red ink!"
    "A joke," Dad repeated.
    "Very funny," Grandma muttered as she stalked out of the room. "I'm splitting my sides."
    Dad sat there glumly.
    "Is it red ink, Daddy?" we asked, and we agreed with him that it was, indeed, a very good joke. "Is it? You really had us fooled."
    "You'll have to ask your grandma," Dad sulked. "She's a very smart lady. She knows it all."
    Martha, who appeared immune to measles, nevertheless wasn't allowed to come into the wards. She couldn't go to school, since the house was quarantined, and the week or two of being an "only child" made her so miserable that she lost her appetite. Finally, she couldn't stand it any more, and sneaked into the sick rooms to visit us.
    "You know you're not allowed in here," said Anne. "Do you want to get sick?"
    Martha burst into tears. "Yes," she sobbed. "Oh, yes."
    "Don't tell us you miss us? Why I should think it would be wonderful to have the whole downstairs to yourself, and to be able to have Mother and Dad all by yourself at dinner."
    "Dad's no fun any more," said Mart. "He's nervous. He says the quiet