You were about six, and you had been taken to the old Booth Theatre at the corner of Twenty-third Street and Sixth Avenue, and had seen 'Little Red Riding Hood,' and when the wolf said, 'All the better to eat you with, my dear,' you burst into a frightened bawl, and had to be hurried out.

Soon after I saw you on a balcony near the Square watching a political procession go by.

Then there were a few years that I missed you, and then a period when I saw you often.

I had grown rather to like you, until one Thanksgiving Day morning.

You snubbed me direct.