engaged for luncheon tomorrow. I’ll tell him that he is to lunch with a nice boy who has come all the way from New Mexico to inform the Department about an important discovery. I’ll tell him to meet you at the Shoreham, at one. That’s expensive, but it would do no good to invite him to a cheap place. And, remember, you must ask him to order the luncheon. It will maybe cost you ten dollars, but it will get you somewhere.”
I felt grateful to the nice little thing—she wasn’t older than I. I begged her wouldn’t she please come to lunch with me herself today, and talk to me.
“Oh, no!” she said, blushing red as a poppy. “Why, I’m afraid you think—”
I told her I didn’t think anything but how nice she was to me, and how lonesome I was.
She went with me, but she wouldn’t go to any swell place.
She told me a great many useful things.
“If you want to get attention from anybody in Washin’ton,” she said, “ask them to lunch. People here will do almost anything for a good lunch.”
“But the Director of the Smithsonian, for instance,” I said, “surely you don’t mean that the high-up ones like that—? Why would he want to bother with a cowpuncher from New Mexico, when he can lunch with scientists and ambassadors?”
She had a pretty little fluttery Southern laugh. > “You just name a hotel like the Shoreham to the Director, and try it! There has to be somebody to pay for a