Mr. Randolph sat down at a little table not far away. He looked tired, the lad thought, and he decided to wait until the close of the meal, if he could manage to make his own small supply of milk last long enough.
"Nothing more, thank you," Doodles told the maid who came to ask. "This milk is very nice," he added, which brought out an answering smile.
At last the president had reached his fruit.
The boy's last crumb had vanished long ago, and he thought he might venture across to the other table.
"May I speak with you a moment, sir?" he asked softly, taking the letter from his pocket.
"Certainly." The man bowed with his accustomed courtesy.
"Polly Dudley gave me this for you."
At mention of the name a pleasant light over-spread the grave face.
The lad watched him as he read. The light deepened, then the brows drew together in a scowl. Doodles wondered what Polly had written.
"This lady is a friend of yours, I take it."