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Yet he managed to own a house and have all the other comforts that we yearned for but never enjoyed.
It was not until long afterward that I understood the whole truth of the matter.
It was a warm June evening when I was about nine years old.
We were waiting for Father to come home from the store, and Mother had been thrilling us with plans for the journey we were going to take to my grandmother’s farm in Iowa — the only vacation trip we had ever dared to plan.
It goes without saying that Father belonged to every lodge and society in town. With all his twelve or fifteen hours of work a day, our family finances were never a nickel ahead.
And yet, in all the years, I can remember my mother protesting only once.
But there is absolutely nothing that people will not ask and expect a druggist to do.
My father had a competitor across the street and one block down.
Our rival, gruff old “Doc” Meadows, did nothing except to keep a clean store, fill prescriptions accurately, and charge fair prices and insist on prompt payments.
The truth is, while they liked me, neither my professors nor my fellow students took me seriously.