The free-lance shook his head. "I took ten pounds away from him," he said.
The secretary whistled.
CHAPTER III.
THE POST OF HONOUR.—THE SECRETARY'S AFFAIR
Hemming awoke with a clear head, despite the President's whiskey, and remembered, with satisfaction, the extra ten pounds. His windows were wide open, and a cool dawn wind came in across the gardens. He threw aside the sheet and went over to the middle window, and, finding that the ledge extended to form a narrow balcony, stepped outside. Away to the right, he could mark a bend of the river by the low-lying mist. He sniffed the air. "There is fever in it," he said, and wondered how many kinds of a fool Mr. Tetson was. He was sorry for the ladies. They did not look like the kind of people to enjoy being shut away from the world in such a God-forsaken hole as this. Why didn't the old ass start a town on the coast? he asked himself. While engaged in these puzzling reflections, Smith rapped at the door, and entered. He carried coffee, a few slices of dry toast, and a jug of shaving-water.
"Will you ride this morning, sir?" he asked.
"Why, yes," replied Hemming, and said he would be shaved before drinking his coffee. As the valet lathered his chin, he asked if the President rode every morning.
"Not 'e, sir," replied the man, "but Miss Tetson does, and Mr. 'Icks."
Hemming found his well-worn riding-breeches brushed and folded, his boots and spurs shining like the sun, and a new cotton tunic ready for him. He looked his surprise at sight of the last article.
"You didn't give me any order, sir," explained the man, "but, bein' as I'm a bit of a tilor myself, I thought as 'ow you wouldn't mind—"