y figured up on the way
home, that they spent on the one meal they fed us more than it cost us
to live for two weeks--they honestly did.

Then there was the dear "Jello" lady at the market. I wish she would
somehow happen to read this, so as to know that we have never forgotten
her. Every Saturday the three of us went to the market, and there was
the Jello lady with her samples. The helpings she dished for us each
time! She brought the man to whom she was engaged to call on us just
before we left. I wonder if they got married, and where they are, and if
she still remembers us. She used to say she just waited for Saturdays
and our coming. Then there was dear Granny Jones, who kept a
boarding-house half a block away. I do not remember how we came to know
her, but some good angel saw to it. She used to send around little bowls
of luscious dessert, and half a pie, or some hot muffins. Then I was
always grateful also--for it made such a good story, and it was true--to
the New England wife of a fellow graduate student who remarked, when I
told her we had one baby and another on the way, "How interesting--just
like the slums!"

We did our own work, of course, and we lived on next to nothing. I
wonder now how we kept so well that year. Of course, we fed the baby
everything he should have,--according to Holt in those days,--and we ate
the mutton left from his broth and the beef after the juice had been
squeezed out of it for him, and bought storage eggs ourselves, and queer
butter out of a barrel, and were absolutely, absolutely blissful.
Perhaps we should have spent more on food and less on baseball. I am
glad we did not. Almost every Saturday afternoon that first semester we
fared forth early, Nandy in his go-cart, to get a seat in the front row
of the baseball grandstand. I remember one Saturday we were late, front
seats all taken. We had to pack baby and go-cart more than half-way up
to the top. There we barricaded him, still in the go-cart, in the middle
of the aisle. Along about the seventh inning, the game waxed
particularly exciting--we were beside ourselves with enthusiasm. Fellow
onlookers seemed even more excited--they called out things--they seemed
to be calling in our direction. Fine parents we were--there was Nandy,
go-cart and all, bumpety-bumping down the grandstand steps.

I remember again the Stadium on the day of the big track meet. Every
time the official announcer would put the megaphone to his mouth, to