Jim shuffled one foot. One corner of his mouth twitched up curiously. It might have been a smile. He looked straight at the blank wall before him.
"You are not much like your mother either—I used to know her as a girl. How's that?"
Jim shuffled the other foot a little.
"R-r-run to seed, I reckon."
The President was a farmer—prided himself on it. The reply pleased him. He touched a bell. A clerk entered.
"Ask Mr. Wake to come here."
"Can you carry a barrel of flour?" he asked Jim.
"I-I'll get it there," said Jim. He leaned a little forward. His eyes opened.
"Or a sack of salt? They are right heavy."
"I-I-I'll get it there," said Jim. His form straightened.