He was often the most jovial and companionable of parents. He could “play the fool” as well as any of us, and had no regard for his own dignity, “conned no state.” I could not, of course, at that age see what good company (by adult standards) he was, his humor being of the sort that requires at least some knowledge of life for its full appreciation; I merely basked in it as in fine weather. And all the time there was the sensuous delight of being at home, the delight of luxury—“civilization,” as we called it.
