It was to be expected that Aunt Lois was perturbed over Harry’s solution to his domestic problem but, as the other relatives felt too, she realized that interference meant taking on the responsibility oneself, and she had worry enough with Grandma. She insisted that they spend Saturdays and Sundays with her, scrubbing them from top to toe, mending and darning them, and looking over their report cards. She wanted to keep Florrie, indeed everyone wanted to keep Florrie, even Isobel and Chris, poor as they were, for Florrie was a “little doll,” they all said. But Papa vowed poor Daisy would never want the girls separated. Besides, it was Florrie who looked after him, trying to do all the things she had seen her mother do, bringing him his matches and ashtray, admiring his neckties, worrying over his frowns, lisping consolation.

“She’s a second Daisy,” declared Papa fondly. “I wouldn’t take a million for her.”

The kitchen help at the hotel provided spontaneous entertainment and occasional discipline for the children. Their love affairs, the town and hotel scandals were freely aired, and later conducted to school by Marcia and Lena for the recess secrets with their classmates. Mrs. McGuire, the cook; Pete, the pastry cook; Kitty and Fanny, the two helpers, knew everything that was going on in town, and were not afraid to make suitable comments. Sometimes on the Friday night Knights of Columbus dances in Eagle Hall, they took Lena to sit by the orchestra and watch the dancing. In good-humored idle hours they taught the children to waltz and two-step and schottische, and twice they took all three girls to the dances to show off Marcia and Lena dancing together and all three singing “Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder.” After school they rode in the engines in the switchyard with the engineers, and played in the telegraph tower with Oley, the Swedish operator. He let them hang on to wires and get electric shocks unless the inspector or dispatcher was around to chase them.

“I hear you’re going to get a new mama,” the trainmen and the kitchen girls were always saying. “Is it that chippy in Newark your dad’s running with?”

“Your papa’s sweet on Bonnie, isn’t he?” the kitchen girls demanded, curiously, and receiving an astonished negative from Marcia they pursued the point with, “What was he doing with her at the Luna Park picnic last Sunday, then? What does she look after you kids for then? Believe me, it ain’t for money.”

It was true that every few weeks their father drew them on his knee for a grave conference.

“How do you like keeping house for your papa?” he would ask earnestly.

They would chorus their pleasure. Then he would whip out a cabinet photograph of a lady from his pocket and ask, “How would you like this lady for your new mama?” Ever pleased at any dramatic change they always expressed approval, though the ladies varied from the one in a long white robe with her hair down, seated at a harp, to a pop-eyed plump brunette in a black picture hat, leaning on a parasol. Whenever they confided excitedly in Bonnie about these ladies, Bonnie got cross and, one time, burst into tears. They couldn’t imagine what was the matter.