There was a huge big building judged by other standards on the main street. It was called C. F. Harrison & Company, a department store. They also had a commercial agency in the store. Some nights when he was beastly tired and to compensate he used to play the little game of believing, and to comfort himself he would believe that he owned that store. Well, he was as far from ownership as possible…well, how would I even compare it to something else…my being near the White House. That’s already been ruled out by human law, because I was born outside of continental America, so I would be as far removed, as my father, from owning this building. It occupied a whole block on the main street, a wonderful wide side street to the second street, a whole block. It was owned almost 100 years by the same family, but they lived in England; they never saw it. They hired local men and occasionally they sent a man out from England to take over management. But he played this game and it helped him, it compensated him when he was beastly tired, walking home in the belief he owned C. F. Harrison & Company.812 ¶6