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As Douglas turned into the walk, a large touring car wheeled into the driveway, and as it purred softly by him, he stepped back respectfully and raised his hat to the tired-faced man sitting alone in the tonneau. He did not need to glance at the small coat-of-arms of the United States emblazoned on the polished door, or at the two Secret Service men following on their motor cycles, to recognize the distinguished occupant of the car.

As the motor stopped under the porte-cochère, the colored butler ran down the steps, and the President leaned forward and placed a note in the bowing and scraping negro’s hand; then the big car continued on down the driveway and out into the street.

Douglas waited where he was for a few minutes before mounting the short flight of steps. The hall door was opened several inches on his approach, and Joshua solemnly extended his card tray, which Douglas waved aside.

“I called to see Mr. Brett; is he here?” he asked.

“Yessir,” Joshua opened the door still further, and inspected him carefully.