The President, on his way to the Department of War, perceived a
gentleman under a tree, scraping among the heaped leaves with his cane.
He knew him, a Major Johnson, of the department, an old District of
Columbia man who had never been out of the district.
"Good morning, major!" hailed the executive officer. "What in the world
are you doing there?"
"Looking for a few horse-chestnuts."
"Eh? Do you expect to find them under a sycamore-tree?" The President
laughed freely and passed on. He ought to have removed the misguided
botanist into the Department of Agriculture, where he might have
learned something.
* * * * *