The Bad Boy Writes About the Fun They Had Going to
Washington--He and His Dad Call on President Roosevelt--
The Bad Boy Meets One of the Children and They Disagree.
Washington, D. C--My Dear Old Skate: I didn't tell you in my last about
the fun we had getting here. We were on the ocean wave two days, because
the whole country was flooded from the rains, and dad walked the quarter
deck of the Pullman car, and hitched up his pants, and looked across the
sea on each side of the train with a field glass, looking for whales and
porpoises. He seems to be impressed with the idea that this trip abroad
is one of great significance to the country, and that he is to be a sort
of minister plenipotentiary, whatever that is, and that our country is
going to be judged by the rest of the world by the position he takes on
world affairs. The first day out of Chicago dad corraled the porter in a
section and talked to him until the porter was black in the face. I told
dad the only way to get respectful consideration from a negro was to
advocate lynching and burning at the stake, for the slightest things, so
when our porter was unusually attentive to a young woman on the car dad
hauled him over the coals, and scared him so by talking of hanging, and
burning in kerosene oil, that the negro got whiter than your shirt, and
when he got away from dad he came to me and asked if that old man with
the red nose and the gold-headed cane was as dangerous as he talked.
I told him he was my dad, and that he was a walking delegate of the
Amalgamated Association of Negro Lynchers, and when a negro did anything
that he ought to be punished for they sent for dad, and he took charge
of the proceedings and saw that the negro was hanged, and shot, and
burned up plenty. But I told him that dad was crazy on the subject
of giving tips to servants, and he must not fall dead when we got to
Washington if dad gave him a $50 bill, and he must not give back any
change, but just act as though he always got $50 from passengers. Well,
you'd a dide to see that negro brush dad 50 times a day, and bring a
towel every few minutes to wipe off his shoes, but he kept one eye,'
about as big as an onion, on dad all the time, to watch that he didn't
get stabbed. The next morning I took dad's pants from under his pillow,
and hid them in a linen closet, and dad laid in his berth all the
forenoon, and had it out with the porter, whom he accused of stealing
them. The doctors told me I must keep dad interested and excited, so he
would not dwell on his sickness, and I did, sure as you are a foot high.
Dad stood it till almost noon, when he came out of his berth with his
pajamas on, these kind with great blue stripes like a fellow in the
penitentiary, and when he went to the wash room I found his pants
and then he dressed up and swore some at everybody but me. We got to
Washington all right, and I thought I would bust when dad fished out a
nickel and gave it to the porter, and we got out of the car before the
porter came to, and the first day we stayed in the hotel for fear the
negro would see us, as I told dad that porter would round up a gang of
negroes with razors and they would waylay us and cut dad all up into
sausage meat.
[Illustration: Fished out a nickel and gave it to the porter 042]
Dad is the bravest man I ever saw when there is no danger, but when
there is a chance for a row he is weak as a cat. I spect it is on
account of his heart being weak. A man's internal organs are a great
study. I spose a brave man, a hero, has to have all his inside things
working together, to be real up and up brave, but if his heart is
strong, and his liver is white, he goes to pieces in an emergency, and
if his liver is all right, and he tries to fight just on his liver, when
the supreme moment arrives, and his heart jumps up into his throat, and
wabbles and beats too quick, he just flunks. I would like to dissect a
real brave man, and see what condition the things inside him are in, but
it would be a waste of time to dissect dad, 'cause I know all his inner
works need to go to a watchmaker and be cleaned, and a new main spring
put in.
Well, this morning dad shaved himself, and got on his frock coat, and
his silk hat, and said we would go over to the white house and have
a talk with Teddy, but first he wanted to go and see where Jefferson
hitched his horse to the fence when he came to Washington to be
innogerated, and where Jackson smoked his corn cob pipe, and swore and
stormed around when he was mad, and to walk on the same paths where
Zachariah Taylor Zacked, Buchanan catched it, and Lincoln put down
the rebellion, and so we walked over toward the white house, and I was
scandalized. I stopped to pick up a stone to throw at a dog inside the
fence, and when I walked along behind dad, and got a rear view of his
silk hat, it seemed as though I would sink through the asphalt pavement,
for he had on an old silk hat that he wore before the war, the darnedest
looking hat I ever saw, the brim curled like a minstrel show hat, the
fur rubbed off in some places, and he looked like one of these actors
that you see pictures of walking on the railroad track, when the show
busts up at the last town. I think a man ought to dress so his young
son won't have a fit. I tried to get dad to go and buy a new hat, but he
said he was going to wait till he got to London, and buy one just like
King Edward wears, but he will never get to London with that hat, 'cause
to-night I will throw it out of the hotel window and put a piece of
stove pipe in his hat box.
Well, sir, you wouldn't believe it, but we got into the white house
without being pulled, but it was a close shave, 'cause everybody looked
at dad, and put their forefingers to their foreheads, for they thought
he was either a crank, or an ambassador from some furrin country. The
detectives got around dad when we got into the anteroom, and began to
feel of his pockets to see if he had a gun, and one of them asked me
what the old fellow wanted, and I told them he was the greatest bob cat
shooter in the west, and was on his way to Europe to invite the emperors
and things to come over to this country and shoot cats on his preserve.
Well, say, you ought to have seen how they stepped one side and waltzed
around, and one of them went in the next room and told the president dad
was there, and before we knew it we were in the president's room, and
the president began to curl up his lip, and show his teeth like some one
had said “rats.”
[Illustration: President began to curl up his lip 045]
He got hold of dad's hand, and dad backed off as though he was afraid of
being bitten, and then they sat down and talked about mountain lion and
cat shooting, and dad said he had a 22 rifle that he could pick a cat
off the back fence with every time, out of his bedroom window, and I
began to look around at the pictures. Dad and the president talked about
all kinds of shooting, from mudhens to moose, and then dad told the
president he was going abroad on account of his liver, and wanted a
letter of introduction to some of the kings and emperors, and queens,
and jacks, and all the face cards, and the president said he made it a
practice not to give any personal letters to his friends, the kings,
but that dad could tell any of them that he met that he was an American
citizen, and that would take him anywhere in Europe, and then he got
up and began to show his teeth at dad again, and dad gave him the grand
hailing sign of distress of the Grand Army and backed out, dropped his
hat, and in trying to pick it up, he stepped on it, but that made it
look better, anyway, and we found ourselves outside the room, and a lot
of common people from the country were ready to go in and talk politics
and cat shooting.
Well, we looked at pictures, and saw the state dining room where they
feed 50 diplomats at a time on mud turtle and champagne, and a boy about
my size looked sort of disdainful at me, and I told him it he would come
outside I would mash his jaw, and he said I could try it right there
if I was in a hurry to go, and I was starting to give him a swift punch
when a detective took hold of my arm and said they couldn't have any
scrap there, 'cause the president's son could not fight with common
boys, and I asked him who he called a common boy, and then dad said we
better go before war broke out in a country that was illy prepared for
hostilities on a large scale, and then I told a detective that dad was
liable to have one of his spells and begin shooting any minute, and
then the detectives all thought dad was one of these president
assassinationists, and they took him into a room and searched him, and
asked him a whole lot of fool questions, and they finally let us out,
and told us we better skip the town before night.
[Illustration: I was starting to give him a swift punch 047]
Dad got kind of heavy-hearted over that and took a notion he would like
to see ma again before crossing the briny deep, so you came near having
your little angel again soon. This weakness of dad's didn't last long,
for we're looking for a warm time in New York and old Lunnon.
So long,
Hennery.