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I wanted to be a cowboy. I told Father on the way home. He chuckled and said no, I didn’t.
He said I might as well be a tramp. I wondered if I’d better tell him that this idea had
occurred to me, no further back than that very morning, I decided that upon the whole
it mightn’t be a good day to mention it, just after Father had taken me to lunch at
Delmonico’s. I did venture to ask him, however, what was the matter with cowboys.