"Yes," I would respond, highly gratified with the anecdote, "and you would say, Oh, Millie, don't get mad at the little codger, some day he might turn out to be a great man!'"
Uncle Beck had a fine collection of American Letters. I found a complete set of Hawthorne and straightway became a moody and sombre Puritan ... and I wrote in Hawthornian prose, quaint essays and stories. And I lived in a world of old lace and lavender, of crinoline and brocade.
And then I discovered my uncle's books on gynecology and obstetrics ... full of guilty fevers I waited until he had gone out on a call and then slunk into his office to read....
One afternoon my doctor-uncle came suddenly upon me, taking me unaware.
"Johnnie, what are you up to?"
"—was just reading your medical books."
"Come over here," already seated at his desk, on his swivel-chair, he motioned me to a seat.
"Sit down!"