The chief of the northern work put his hand on the boy's shoulder. Then, greatly to the secretary's surprise, for he knew how rarely Rivers could be got to talk, the geologist recounted with gusto his endeavors to dissuade the boy by representing the hardships of the trail and how each successive obstacle had but deepened the lad's purpose; and when he told of Roger's determination to acquire in a few months all the accomplishments and virtues of an old-time woodsman, Rivers's short and infrequent laugh found vent.
"And I tell you what, Mr. Mitchon," he concluded, just as two visitors entered the room, "that's the kind of boy these United States want!"
On seeing the Director and his guest, the secretary, who had been leaning back in his swinging chair listening with great amusement and zest, sprang to his feet, but before he could say anything the visitor broke in with warm, enthusiastic tones.
"And that's the kind of lad I like to know. Shake hands, my boy, and tell me your name."
"Roger Doughty, sir," answered the boy, wincing a little under the grip.
"The first of the Carneller nominees," put in the Director.
But the guest had turned, and after greeting the secretary, spoke to Rivers, who still had one hand on the boy's shoulder.
"I think I met you with reference to Alaska," he said readily, "but I do not recall your name."
"Rivers, Mr. President," answered the geologist.
"Mr. President!" Roger felt almost suffocated with joy at hearing that this praise of him had come direct to the ears of the President of the United States.