“Next year I hope you can find time to come down to see us at school,” Junior ventured with his double portion of ice cream. “All the fellows want to meet you.”
“I want to meet them,” said his father. “This fall on the way back, maybe.”
“Oh, you’re going away again?”
“Next week I’m going up into the woods with Billy Norton on a long canoe trip. Some new country I want to show him. Trout streams never yet fished by a white man.”
“Gosh! That’ll be great,” said Junior.
“Some day I’ll take you up there. It’s time you learned that game. Fly casting, like swinging a golf club, should begin before your muscles are set. Would you care to go on a camping trip with me?”
Care to! Of course it was the very thing he was doing all the time in his daydreams, but he could not say that to his father. He said, “Yes, thanks,” and paused for another sip of water. “You wouldn’t—no, of course, you wouldn’t want me to go along this time.”
“Not this time. You see, I promised Billy. Some day though—you and I alone. Much better, don’t you think?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir! Makes me feel like a master. I’m your father.” They laughed at that and went back to the office. “Only take me a second to sign these letters,” said Phil. Junior looked at the neat pile of them, again impressed by his father’s importance.