A President is Born by Fannie Hurst

So it was that David had practically two homes. The House on Sycamore Street that had to get used all over again to a youngster clattering through its halls and nicking into its base-boards and sliding down its banisters, and his sister's farmhouse with the big square light rooms of almost too many windows and the bright golden-oak woodwork and the brass bed and balcony-front bird's-eye maple dressers and yellow hardwood floors and folding-doors on easy rollers that divided a dining-room done in golden oak and leather upholstery of the McKinley period, from a parlor of dragon-footed mahogany-and-green-velours, two-tone green rug and Victrola with wax cylindrical records.

Rebekka was not much on the details of interior decoration. Until Paula grew up and had sharp ideas of her own that conflicted with her mother's, practically all of the ordering for the Renchler household was done by mail-order catalogue. Stacks of bulky pamphlets lay on Rebekka's roll-top desk in the dining-room bay window beside a pack of stamped envelopes; and scarcely a day but what Rebekka, who wrote all letters on pad-paper in lead-pencil, jotted some such as these: