Uncle Nick was this old fizzler on the Hill. The grownups called him Nicholas Baker and the kids all called him Uncle Nick, but the army couldn't fool me. I knew he was Niels Bohr, the world's greatest atomic scientist, all the way from Denmark.

No self-respecting man would tolerate such an insult.

At a very early age his shrill voice could be heard calling in admonitory tones, caught from his mother's very lips, You 'Nelius, don' you let me ketch you th'owin' at ol' mis' guinea-hens no mo'; you hyeah me? or Hi'am, you come offen de top er dat shed 'fo' you fall an' brek yo' naik all to pieces.

Before the sun was at it's highest, I almost gave in (admitted) that the Jalap had me bet (beat), because there I was spending more time running like a redshank to the gripe and fustering (fumbling) with the galluses and my trousers, than at the mowing.