From a janitor we inquired where to find the President.
"In the Administration Building, eh?" said Mr. Sims.
"That's a new one on me. The building on the right, eh?
Thank you."
"See the President?" said a young lady in an ante-office.
"I'm not sure whether you can see him just now. Have you
an appointment?"
Mr. Sims drew out a card. "Give him that" he said. On
the card he had scribbled "Graduate of 1887."
In a few minutes we were shown into another room where
there was a young man, evidently the President's secretary,
and a number of people waiting.
"Will you kindly sit down," murmured the young man, in
a consulting-room voice, "and wait? The President is
engaged just now."
We waited. Through the inner door leading to the President
people went and came. Mr. Sims, speaking in whispers,
continued to caution me on the quickness of our get-away.
Presently the young man touched him on the shoulder.
"The President will see you now," he whispered.
We entered the room. The "old guy" rose to meet us, Mr.
Sims's card in his hand. But he was not old. He was at
least ten years younger than either of us. He was, in
fact, what Mr. Sims and I would almost have called a boy.
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