Boys will be boys. They will lay away marbles, nails and curios—even a frog for prankishness. Girls call them "pack-rats," and besides "they are made of snips and snails and puppy dog tails." Later, their scrounging tapers off, with fishing tackle and golfing paraphernalia in the ascendency. Girls, too, are collectors of oddities, finery, and plenteous shoes and hats; later drugs and medical gadgets hold a special interest. No wonder, for the radio, television, and door-to-door peddlers din their ears from morn to night with "This is it for vim, vigor and vitality." Indeed, there must be fascination in the gaily colored pills and bittersweet concoctions, and a reverence for Uncle Dan's prescription that saved his life.
The ancestral cabinet emerges as a home-apothecary, displacing mementoes, tintypes, and little