"I'm sorry, mother," but Kathleen did not look particularly penitent; she
considered that the faithful Henry had a soft berth. That he worked
occasionally would not prove harmful. She had hoped to avoid going to the
Capitol that morning, and when told that Henry had not appeared either at
the house for orders or at the garage, she had supposed the trip would be
given up. But Mrs. Whitney was of the persevering kind, and with her to
plan was to accomplish. Decidedly upset by Henry's non-appearance in her
well conducted household, she had ordered the garage to fill his place
temporarily, and her limousine was at last at the door.

Mrs. Whitney was giving her final direction to the new chauffeur as to
which she considered the best and safest route to the Capitol and the
speed she wished maintained, when her husband joined them.

"I've decided to take a morning off and go with you," he announced,
entering the limousine. "Room for me on the back seat?"

"Surely," and his wife patted the wide cushion. "We do not possess a
superabundance of flesh in this family."

"Except Dad," interpolated Kathleen mischievously. She knew her father
disliked the idea of getting fat, while lacking the initiative of keeping
thin. "What you need, Dad, is a cold plunge and a ten-mile walk before
breakfast."

Whitney shuddered. "Nice comfortable ideas you have, Kathleen, for a
winter day. It strikes me you should take a dose of your own medicine."
Inspecting her keenly. "Late hours do not improve your appearance,
young lady."