one was entirely certain that he used them all himself.

He gave one much more than advertising, though. Some of his nightly gems of wisdom (he called them nuggets) were really wonderful; they made one think. A favorite nugget, which people were always writing in and asking him to repeat, went like this: "We're all alike inside, folks, and we ought to be all alike outside." The Happy Clown's viewers were not children and adults, they were kiddies and folks.

After the Happy Clown went off the air the happy kiddies went to bed, to lie for a while looking at the Jolly Kitten and the Dancing Dogsie, until, lulled by the joggler, they went gently to sleep. After that came the cowboys and spacemen, carryovers for any happy kiddies with insomnia. For really meaty programs one had to stay up past ten. Then the spectaculars began, and the quiz shows, and the boxing and wrestling.

Steven did not like the Happy Clown or the Jolly Kitten or the Dancing Dogsie. Sometimes he began to grow interested in the cowboys or spacemen, but when they stopped in the middle of an adventure to talk about how they could not possibly rope the steers or shoot the asteroids without a good breakfast of Cornsies and Choko-Milko, which everybody ate, just everybody, Steven climbed out of bed and slept on the floor.

Steven did not like the records or the talking books, and when he went to kiddie-garden he viewed the televised lessons with a cold eye. For some reason which he could not have explained, he wanted to learn to read, but they would not teach him till he was seven, and so he taught himself, from the letters on the jarsies. But then there was nothing to read except the newspapers and the magazines, which he puzzled over patiently, getting most of the words right after a while. The many advertisements were easiest; they used pictures and the simplest of language.

His parents thought it was very cunning of him to look at the printing like that, so wisely, as if he could read it! He said once to Harriet, "I can read it," but she said, "Oh, Stevie, you're teasing Mumsie!" and looked so frightened at this fresh peculiarity that the child said gravely, "Yes, teasing." He wished he had a silent book. He knew there were such things, but there were none at home. There were few silent books anywhere. There were none in kiddie-garden.

Steven was not happy in kiddie-garden. The enthusiasm the other kiddies showed for the lessons appalled him. The kiddies themselves appalled him. They joined so passionately in the 

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