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8

I was 5 years old when we moved and my parents farmed me out on moving day, with some friends who lived in out new neighborhood, the Denhams, who had a daughter, Jane, about my age. I recall vaguely spending that day at the Denhams, whose house looked out over the valley which entered the city from the east.
However, I have no recollection of the Denham family either before or after that day until some ten years later, Jane appears on the scene again at a couple of teenager dances I attended, only to disappear again, this time forever I should imagine.
All I can remember about Jane is that she was a plain-looking but attractive girl who had a scar on her cheek. I spent that night in our new home and entered a new life, or so it seemed.
My room had pale green walls with a three-foot band of paper running around the room on which were pleasant rural Dutch scenes with windmills, children in wooden shoes, cows in pasture -- at least, that's what I [[underline]] think [[/underline]] it was. Out my front window, I could look across the street at "Dey's Hill" where the neighborhood kids did their sledding. My room was on the north-west corner of the house and out my side window I looked down on the vacant lot beside us. There were open spaces as contrasted with the McClennan Avenue location, the street was paved and the sidewalks cement. The homes on our block were not mansions but they were medium-sized, well-built, comfortable houses, architecturally attractive for the most part, and exuding well-being. It was upper middle-class in the immediate area and it was right on the border of upper-class, which was on James Street running parallel one block over to the south; in fact, there were a few large homes sprinkled into our immediate surroundings such as the Dey mansion across the street, complete with large barn, chauffeur and two Pierce-Arrows. But we weren‘t in that league; financially at least, and I have an idea that my father had to stretch a bit to make this move.

Perhaps the best way to convey a feel for the neighborhood is to review the neighbors, many of whom had children whom I got to know very well. These families lived within a block or two of us: 

Next door lived Dr. and Mrs. Thomas Henry Halsted. Dr. Halsted was an ophthalmologist like my father and must have been some ten years older. He was, I believe, rated the No. 1 eye man in town with my father in the No. 2 spot and ready to move into the top spot when Dr. H. retired. Dr. H. was also quite a promoter, particularly in real estate, and had sold our new home to my father; he had several irons in the fire and had a big income which was evident from the way they lived. This was his second marriage, his first wife having died. He had two grown-up daughters, Edith and Kathleen, by his first marriage, and three children, Frances, Ruth and Jimmie, by his second; Jimmie was 3 or 4 and the two girls several years older Jimmie and I became bosom pals despite a couple of years