"For the first ten years of my life, " Charles told me, in his quiet, unostentatious way, as we sat together in the pine-panelled library of his Hollywood home, "I was a most naughty little boy -- spoiled and petted. Then I changed suddenly but most completely. Before that change came, however, the change which divided my life as a chasm divides the land, I got into every kind of mischief available. And when none was available I invented some. I was never "like the Boyers." I took no interest in the factory, other than to memorize the names of the employees and the machinery. I took no interest at all in thriftily depositing my francs and centimes in my small bank. I am sure that my good father must have deplored, a little uneasily, this changeling in his home. But my mother smiled her secret smile (that smile that Charles has inherited) and was convinced that a new intellectual light had been born into the world. And because she so believed, she humored me and always 'spared the rod.'
    "I did all the things naughty little boys have done and will do so long as little boys play hob with the world. I broke the neighbors' windows. I arrogantly was unmoved when my father remonstrated with me, told me that no Boyer had ever 'destroyed good property.' I pulled the black curls of all the little Toinettes in the town. Some little girl was forever running home crying that 'Charles hurt me!'

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