The Wicksville paper told how there wouldn't be any school for six weeks, on account of somebody getting diphtheria. That same afternoon my father didn't get out of the way of an automobile and got broke inside some place, so he had to go to the hospital in Detroit to have it fixed. "James," says my mother--that's my real name, but the fellows call me Plunk--"I've--I've got to go with--your father." She was crying, you see, and I wasn't feeling very good, I can tell you. "And," she went on, "I don't know what--we shall ever do."…
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