"We lingered to see President McKinley, who was out in his carriage," said Walter. "We got so interested we forgot the time until we were just about a minute late."
"Well, I can't blame you much for wanting to see the man you are fighting under," said the railroad official. "Let me see your tickets." And, taking them, he wrote upon the back of each in blue pencil. "There you are, but you'll have to ride in an ordinary coach."
"We don't care if it is a freight," put in Si, earnestly. "We want to get there." And, after both had thanked the official for his kindness, they withdrew.
"We're all right so far," observed Walter, as "to kill time," they walked slowly down one of the broad avenues for which our Capitol city is famous. "The question is, what will Caleb Walton think of us when he finds us missing?"
"I hope he doesn't think we are trying to desert!" cried Walter, to whom this idea had not before occurred.
"Some fellows wouldn't be any too good to desert, Walter. Only last week a lot of fellows deserted on their way from one of the western states. They got to Chicago, where they wanted to go, and that was the last seen of them. They were like tramps—willing to do anything for a free ride on the cars. But they ran the risk of being court-martialled for it."
"I think the fact that we had our tickets fixed up will go to show what our intentions were, Si. However, we have put our feet into it, and must take what comes."
After a walk of half an hour, both felt hungry and entered a modest-looking restaurant on a side street. They had just ordered a cheap meal each, when a newsboy entered with a bundle of afternoon newspapers.
"Have a paper, sir? Extra, sir; all about the Flying Squadron going to sail. Only one cent, sir."
"What's that?" questioned Walter. "Here, give me a paper." And he grasped the sheet eagerly, while Si also purchased one of another sort. Soon both were devouring the "scare-heads" showing upon each.