I make no apology to the spiritually minded, to whom this statement must be a revelation of grossness.

I am content to tell the truth as well as I am able.

I do not even need to console myself with the reflection that what is dross to the dreamy ascetic may be gold to the psychologist.

The fact is that I ate, even as a delicate child, with considerable relish; and I remember eating with a relish still keener.

Why, I can dream away a half-hour on the immortal flavor of those thick cheese cakes we used to have on Saturday night.