roots of the tonsils had finally been
removed. He produced a little box from his
pocket in which there was a small calcified fragment, half the size of a
pea. This, he explained with hand signals and writing, came from
inside one of the tonsils and no doubt caused much of his suffering.
The little pebble, for that is what it looked like, as well as the
vivisected tonsils went on display in his curio cabinet, the tonsils
being preserved in alcohol.
"Well," said Uncle Edmund Sears, observing them with disgust,
"I suppose if you get hard up you can always drink the alcohol."
My father spent a minimum on his wardrobe and it was not uncommon to see
him around town in rather threadbare gar- ments. When he went to
Boston he was a little more particular, but nobody ever
accused him of stepping out of a bandbox. Before wearing a new
pair of shoes he always cut a two-inch slit over the big toe of his
right foot, then took the shoe to a cobbler to have a gusset
of softer leather sewn in. He needed the extra space on account of a
deformity caused by Uncle Bob Bellows' accidentally rocking on his foot
and breaking the toe. Orthopedic treatment did not interest him.
His favorite winter overcoat was an old green ulster that he had bought
to wear to Europe in 1900. When the fabric could
no longer hold buttons, he pinned it together with safety pins. Faded
and threadbare as it was, he refused to discard it. It was perfect for
wearing around the place or to country auctions. It served other
purposes as well; a dog sometimes slept on it and on
particularly cold nights it was either covering an automobile radiator
or lying along the bottom of the front door to keep out
the drafts. One snowy day when he was in Boston an automobile