The weeks thus passed into eventful months, eventful months into significant years until some five epic-filled years had passed.
      The Smith children were no longer dirty. They were neatly dressed, clean, and well-mannered in the presence of strangers. Their noses didn't run and they stopped catching colds. Lucille became a pretty, if affected, young woman of nineteen, and went to college. The Smiths now owned their house and had had it completely renovated. It was now warm in winter and cool in summer. There was new furniture, a grand piano on which all the children practiced, a telephone with two extensions, a double-sized refrigerator, a combination hi-fi set, an electric washing-machine and drier, a maid and two cars.
      Mr. Smith still drank as much as ever but no one seemed to mind any more. All the neighbours took of their hats now when he passed. Whenever something happened anywhere in the world they would ask him to explain it and Mr. Smith always had explanations. And all the neighbours remarked at how Mr. Smith had changed from a loutish drunkard into a prosperous, charming and witty bon vivant.
      When a newspaper reporter asked him what was the secret of his success, Mr. Smith puffed on his cigar and answered, "Hard work and taking advantage of opportunity when it knocked."

      The reporter wrote it all down. "That," said Mr. Smith, "is responsible for my being where I am today. But if the real truth were told ..."
      "Yes?" said the reporter who was going to write Mr. Smiths life story for a big newspaper.
      "If the real truth were told," continued Mr. Smith, "I'd have to say I owe everything to my wife."
      "You are a very modest man," said the reporter.
      "You can also add that as another reason for my success - modesty," hiccupped Mr. Smith.

Mrs. Smith had also become famous in her own right. Almost every other day the society pages of the newspapers reported what she wore, where she went, what she did and what she said. She went to teas, gave money to charity, christened two battleships, and began to ride horses, which is something people in the big cities often do when they get rich.

      As the Smith children grew older they wanted to move from their house to a classier neighbourhood but their parents wouldn't hear of it. "This is where we achieved our success, and this is where we'll stay," they said loyally.
      The children could understand their parents' sentimental attachment to the old house but they couldn't understand why they refused to part with that old broken-down kitchen chair that had no back.

      "It's an eyesore," the children said.
      "It's a family heirloom," Mrs. Smith explained, "and it means a lot to us.
The children teased them about it, and their rich friends snickered at their attachment to the ugly old chair, but Mr. and Mrs. Smith didn't mind that.