"Is there anything I can do?" asked Barry, as he gradually plucked up courage.
Mr. Carlton groaned and then made a grimace.
"I wish you could do something," he replied; "I've got 225 agricultural reports that ought to go out the first thing in the morning. Each one of them should be accompanied by a typewritten letter signed by myself. I have the books here, and a form of letter, but I haven't anybody to do the work. I've got to go to a Committee meeting in fifteen minutes and I am almost distracted."
"I think I might be able to help you out some," said the boy, timidly.
"Help me out?" said the Congressman, looking up in surprise.
"Yes," said Barry, "you know I work the typewriter, and I could easily copy your letters."
Mr. Carlton laughed in the joyous, care-free way that Barry remembered so well.
"Barry, you are very kind, but I don't think you could possibly get through with the work. I remember well when you wrote the bill for the Naval Repair Station. While you did it all right, you were certainly slower than the hearse at the colored funeral."
"Well," said Barry, becoming more confident as he talked, "if you will just let me go ahead I might finish some of the letters tonight, and you know every little helps."