“Oh, he’s so seldom in this country, and he’s terribly busy when he gets here. Barely has time to jump from one large undertaking to another.” He had heard Aunt Mary’s husband say “large undertaking.” “Well, some of the fellows think you’re just bluffing about your father.” “Huh! They’re jealous. Look at Smithy’s father. Nothing but money and fat. Huh!” Then came the great day when a wireless arrived for Junior. Very few boys get messages from their fathers by wireless. “Land Friday,” it said. “Coming to see you Saturday.” Ah! That would show them! Junior jumped into a sort of first-page prominence in the news of the day. He let some of his friends see the wireless. And now all of them would see his father on Saturday. That was the day of the game. Junior would have a chance to exhibit him before the whole school. “Six feet two and well proportioned.” “Captain of his team in college.” He planned it all out carefully. They would arrive late at the game and Junior would lead him down the line. But he would do it with a matter-of-fact manner as if used to going to games with his father. On Friday he received a telegram. “Sorry can’t make it stop am wiring headmaster permission spend week-end with me stop meet at office lunch time stop go to ball game and theatre in the evening.” It was a straight telegram at that, not a night letter. That would show the boys what kind of a father he had. “Hot dog!” they said. “But look here! You’ll miss the game.” “The game” meant the great school game, of course, not the mere world-series event Junior was going to. “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. “Huh! I don’t believe you’ve got a father,” said Smithy.