flies
and postage stamps for a loftier passion. It marked another step in my
career. I might have stayed a collector all my days if love and
enthusiasm were all, and if I had never had to think about my bread and
butter. But even at the age of eleven or so circumstances were making a
merchant of me.
I
used to catalogue my specimens, even then, in big block letters two
inches deep. This methodical habit, which later stood me in such good
stead, brought me into conflict with my mother at the time, for I had
for lack of any other commandeered a laundry book and torn out the
pages already covered with details about shirts, handkerchiefs and
sheets. The discovery of my crime caused no little commotion on the day
the laundry came back and no one could check it. But apart from such
alarms I suffered much for owning a collection, for whenever I
neglected my homework or committed some misdemeanour my elders swooped
down upon the drawer which contained my treasure, and I lost it for a
day or maybe longer. They found it very useful.
