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“No services today,” she said. “The minister is sick with the grippe.” She came closer. “It’s Mister Roosevelt, isn’t it? Governor now, ain’t you? My man voted for you. He was at San Juan Hill.”
Instantly Theodore had his notebook out. “What was his name? I’ll remember him. I remember all my Rough Riders, they were a gallant lot of fellows.”
She told him the name. “He got wounded in a skirmish. But he got over it. Now he travels around selling housewares for some folks in Jersey City. He’s away down in Pennsylvania today. It was too far to come home for Christmas but it makes it a dreary time when the man’s away, the young ones miss him.”
As the carriage started up the hill Ethel announced, “I never got to put my five cents in the collection, Father.”
“You mean you’ve lost it already?”
“It’s in my mitten. Where Mother put it. Do I have to give it back to Mother?”
“No, you may keep it. When we get to Albany you can take a ride on the streetcar with it, but unless you can promote a little more cash you’ll have to walk back,” he teased.
“I’d have to take Mame with me,” she demurred, “and she always grumbles that her feet hurt.”
The good smell of dinner met them at the door as they entered, and some warmth from the glowing fires that had been piled high with logs. The furnaces too gave up a grudging wave of heat and, warming his hands at the wood fire, Theodore was glad they would not have to struggle with inadequate heating much longer. This house had been 22built for summer and was delightful at that season, catching the breezes from the Bay. The trouble was that the wind was just as enthusiastic in winter, and the curtains at the windows now waved gently as it frolicked around the high gables.
Ted was sitting on the stairs, capped and mittened, his new sled at his feet.
“I thought you’d never come, Father,” he fretted. “Mother says I can’t go out alone.”
“I don’t think he should go out at all,” declared Edith, “but I agreed to leave the decision to you.”
“There’s not enough snow, Ted,” his father told him. “It wouldn’t carry your sled. You’ll have to wait for a heavier snowfall. From the look of those clouds we should get it tonight.”
Ted stared ruefully out the window. “Why is God so stingy? In Albany there won’t be any place to use a sled. Mame said so.”
“There are parks in Albany, Ted,” Edith assured him, “and likely grounds around the capitol building and there is sure to be a hill there somewhere.”