Cheaper by the Dozen

tears. "You do too!"
    Whenever Mr. Isles came to call after that, he always brought one box of candy for Mother and us, and a separate box for Lillian. Ernestine used to remark, in a tone tinged with envy, that Lill was probably New Jersey's youngest gold digger, and that few adult gold diggers ever had received more, in return for less.
    Dad was an easy-going host, informal and gracious, and we tried to pattern ourselves after him.
    "Any more vegetables, boss?" he'd ask Mother. "No? Well, how about mashed potatoes? Lots of them. And plenty of lamb. Fine. Well, Sir, I can't offer you any vegetables, but how about...?"
    "Oh, come on, have some more beef," Frank urged a visiting German engineer. "After all, you've only had three helpings."
    "There's no need to gobble your grapefruit like a pig," Fred told a woman professor from Columbia University, who had arrived late and was trying to catch up with the rest of us. "If we finish ahead of you, we'll wait until you're through."
    "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't pass your dessert until you finish your lima beans," Dan told a guest on another occasion. "Daddy won't allow it, and you're my responsibility. Daddy says a Belgian family could live a week on what's thrown away in this house every day."
    "Daddy, do you think that what Mr. Fremonville is saying is of general interest?" Lill interrupted a long discourse to ask.
    Dad and Mother, and most of the guests, laughed away remarks like these without too much embarrassment. Dad would apologize and explain the family rule involved, and the reason for it. After the guests had gone, Mother would get ustogether and tell us that while family rules were important, it was even more important to see that guests weren't made uncomfortable.
    Sometimes after a meal, Dad's stomach would rumble and, when there weren't any guests, we'd tease him about it. The next time it rumbled, he'd look shocked and single out one of us.
    "Billy," he said. "Please! I'm not in the mood for an organ recital."
    "That was your stomach, not mine, Daddy. You can't fool me."
    "You children have the noisiest stomachs I've ever heard. Don't you think so, Lillie?"
    Mother looked disapprovingly over her mending.
    "I think," she said, "there are Eskimos in the house."
    One night, Mr. Russell Allen, a young engineer, was a guest for supper. Jack, in a high chair across the table from him, accidentally swallowed some air and let out a belch that resounded through the dining room and, as we found out later, was heard even in the kitchen by Mrs. Cunningham. It was such a thorough burp, and had emerged from such a small subject, that all conversation was momentarily suspended in amazement. Jack, more surprised than anybody, looked shocked. He reached out his arm and pointed a chubby and accusing forefinger at the guest.
    "Mr. Allen," he said in offended dignity. "Please! I'm not in the mood for an organ recital."
    "Why, Jackie!" said Mother, almost in tears. "Why, Jackie. How could you?"
    "Out," roared Dad. "Skiddoo. Tell Mrs. Cunningham to give you the rest of your supper in the kitchen. And I'll see you about this later."
    "Well, you say it," Jack sobbed as he disappeared toward the kitchen. "You say it when your stomach rumbles."
    Dad was blushing. The poise which he told us he valued so highly had disappeared. He shifted uneasily in his seat and fumbled with his napkin. Nobody could think of a way to break the uneasy silence.
    Dad cleared his throat with efficient thoroughness. But the silence persisted, and it hung heavily over the table.
    "Lackaday," Dad finally said. The situation was getting desperate, and he tried again. "Lack a couple of days," Dad said with a weak, artificial laugh. We felt sorry for him and for Mother and Mr. Allen, who were just as crimson as Dad. The silence persisted.
    Dad suddenly flung his napkin on the table and walked out into the kitchen. He returned holding Jack by the hand. Jack was still crying.
    "All right, Jackie," Dad said. "Come back and sit down. You're right, you learned it from me. First you apologize to Mr. Allen. Then we'll tell him the whole story. And then none of us will ever say it again. As your Mother told us, it all comes from having Eskimos in the house."
    Dad's sister, Aunt Anne, was an ample Victorian who wore full, sweeping skirts and high ground-gripper shoes. She was older than Dad, and they were much alike and devoted to each other. She was kindly but stern, big bosomed, and every inch a lady. Like Dad,