“Well, you see, he doesn’t have many chances to be with me. I’ll have to go.” A dutiful son.
But on Saturday morning he received another telegram. “Sorry must postpone our spree together letter follows.”
He was beginning to wonder if his father really wanted to see him. It was a great jolt to his pride. He had counted upon letting the boys know where they lunched, what play they saw together, and perhaps there might be a few hairbreadth escapes to relate.
“He can’t come,” said Junior to his roommate, tearing up the telegram.
“Why can’t he?” asked Blackie. Did Blackie suspect anything? His parents never let anything prevent their seeing Blackie.
“Invited to the White House,” said Junior, tossing the torn telegram into the fire. “The President wants to consult him about conditions in Siberia.”
“Gee!” This made a sensation and it would spread. “But aren’t you going to see him at all?”
“Of course. Going down next week probably, but you know an invitation to the White House is a command.”
“That’s so.” Junior’s father’s stock was soaring.
That evening Smithy dropped in. He had heard about the White House and the President.