“You already have skates,” said his father. “Don’t be greedy.”
“But those skates were better,” insisted Ted. “They have those sharpened edges and two straps.”
“I still say you are being greedy, Ted. It’s an ugly trait. Get rid of it. Pete Murray is not as fortunate as you. He never gets many presents.”
“Anyway,” Kermit chimed in, “maybe in Albany there won’t be any ice.”
“I don’t want to go to Albany,” piped up little Archie. “I like here.”
“So do we,” said Ted, “but Father has to be governor of New York because he beat the Spaniards in the war.”
“Not alone, Ted,” corrected his father. “There were quite a few stout fellows helping me. Thousands of them, in fact, from generals and admirals down to plain soldiers and sailors.”
“But the Rough Riders were the bravest,” his son persisted.
“We’ll hope history will affirm that rash assertion.” His father was dry. “However, I thank you for your commendation. All right, here we are. Pile out, you fellows. Mother and the girls are just behind us in the other carriage. Everybody carry his own loot. Supper will be ready, we’ll hope, though I doubt if Archie can stay awake long enough to eat it.”
The fires would be warm and pleasant after the chill outside, but later icy drafts would creep out of the corners making the family shiver. It was fortunate the young Roosevelts were a hardy breed, all but Ted who was still inclined to be frail and subject to sudden illnesses. Theodore Roosevelt remembered his own sickly childhood and hoped for the best for his sons. Certainly he himself was tough enough now. There had been times in his youth when he had been forced to go to the high, dry western country to recover his health and strength. He still went back occasionally in summer to look after his cattle interests there into which he had sunk so much of his inheritance from his father.