Belles on their Toes

and for the boys' shoes to be taken down to the boiler room to dry.
    "Oh, yes," she added as an apparent afterthought, "and send up a newspaper too, if you will."
    After the board had been set up, Mother started pressing the boys' underwear, socks, shirts and suits until they were dry. She saved Frank's suit until the last. When she had finished with his coat and vest, and was in the middle of his pants, she stopped long enough to phone the desk again and ask that the shoes be returned.
    A musty odor of burned dye and scorched wool permeated the room.
    "Hey," shouted Frank. "My pants!"
    Mother put down the phone quickly and ran to the board.
    "Now look what I've done," she reproached herself. "I've burned a hole right through your beautiful trousers."
    "Hot dog," Fred gloated.
    "Ruined," Frank choked. "I'll never be able to match them."
    "There's no argument there," Bill said.
    "I don't know how I could be so stupid," Mother complained, looking at her watch. "We still have fifteen minutes, though. We'll pick up a new suit for you. I'll take along a needle and thread, and hem the cuffs so they'll do for the time being."
    "Do you think we can find one with that heavy kind of material?" Frank asked.
    "I hope we can. Say, it's lucky I had them send up a newspaper! Look through it and see if anyone's having a sale."
    "Wait a minute,” Frank said accusingly. "That business of ordering a newspaper. Are you sure that was just luck? You didn't burn those pants on purpose, did you?"
    "For goodness' sake," Mother laughed. "Do you think I like to buy you boys new clothes? Do you think I'm naturally destructive?"
    The shoes arrived from the boiler room. With Frank self-consciously holding down his coat, to hide a wedge-shaped hole in his trousers, Mother and the boys walked to a department store that had advertised a clothing sale. Frank found a suit of heavy material, not unlike his old one, except that it was conservatively cut and dark blue instead of yellow-tan. Even Bill admitted it was handsome. The coat and vest fitted well enough, and Mother basted in the cuffs.
    They stopped in a barber shop for shoe shines, and then hailed a cab.
    "To the White House, please," Mother said. She looked as cool and unruffled as she had when the boys first arrived at her hotel.
    The boys were on their especial good behavior as they waited to go through the receiving line. But when Bill saw an immensely dignified, bearded figure, he stage-whispered excitedly to Mother:
    "Say, isn't that Charles Evans Hughes?"
    The Chief Justice, who had heard his name, turned toward Bill and bowed formally from the waist. "Good afternoon. Sir," he said, "and Madam."
    If that was the way you behaved at the White House, the boys weren't going to be outdone. All six of them bowed from the waist, and said good afternoon, Sir.
    The President and Mrs. Hoover were cordial and hospitable.
    "They look just as if they'd stepped out of a bandbox," said Mrs. Hoover. "I never thought young boys could look that pressed." She turned to Frank. "You're the oldest, aren't you?"
    Frank said he was, Madam.
    "Then I guess you were the one who looked after everybody on the trip down. I guess you're the one I really ought to compliment about stepping out of a bandbox."
    Frank said thank you, Madam. The boys bowed from the waist, and moved along the receiving line.

    Mother had planned to return home by train that afternoon. Although she had always before avoided the Model T, she allowed herself to be talked into making the return trip in the car.
    The skies had cleared and the weather was mild. Frank held the Ford at a dignified forty-five, and there was no tire trouble. They stopped at Baltimore for supper, and when they emerged from the restaurant the stars were out and it was still and peaceful.
    "Why this isn't bad at all," Mother sighed contentedly. "I ought to let you boys drive me on all my trips."
    They started to sing some of the songs Mother had taught them when they were younger. "Old Black Joe," "Clementine," "Backward, Turn Backward Oh Time in Thy Flight."
    Half an hour out of Baltimore, a siren sounded and a motorcycle policeman pulled up along side.
    "How was tea at the White House?" the officer hollered over the roar of two exhausts.
    "Fine," Frank shouted back.
    "How's the kid who was sick?"
    "I'm fine," Dan assured him.
    "And the one who don't take nothing from nobody?"
    "Okay," Jack grinned.
    The policeman gunned his motorcycle up the highway.
    "Good gracious,"