Calico Pennants Read Online Free

so-called exploits are well publicized,” she explained with humility.
    “Amelia’s husband is George Putnam, the publisher,” Eleanor offered.
    Forrestal nodded his recognition. Amelia looked over at the president, who was smiling.
    “Shall we move to our little dining room?” suggested Mrs. Roosevelt. “I believe they’re ready to serve lunch.”
    “Splendid,” said the president. “I’m hungry!” he declared. He reached for his crutches and struggled to stand upon braced legs. Though several aids waited nearby, no one moved to assist him, for they’d long ago been instructed as to his preference for independence.
    The Roosevelts’ dining room combined the formality of the White House with the imported personal comforts of Hyde Park. The table and chairs were Chippendale—not overly large or intimidating. Above a credenza hung a genuine Winslow Homer. The large window opposite the double doorway looked out upon a snowy west lawn surrounded by bare trees.
    The dining table itself was laid with fine white linens monogrammed in silver thread. Four silver candlesticks with tapered white candles were placed round a floral centerpiece of lilies. The china was Doulton, and the crystal water goblets were etched with the Presidential Seal. FDR sat at the head of the table; Eleanor sat opposite him. Amelia was seated at the president’s right, and Mr. Forrestal at his left.
    After crab cocktails and spinach salads, they were served Filet Mignon, saffron rice, buttered limas, and baby carrots. For dessert they were offered lemon chiffon cake. Over coffee the president nodded for the servers to leave the room, then asked Amelia how the repairs to her airplane were progressing.
    “Quite well,” she told him. “But it’s terribly expensive. The Electra was not insured, you know. No company was willing to assume the risk. But we’re hoping to be ready for a second try by the beginning of June.”
    “That soon?” said FDR.
    “If we can raise the funds. Though we’ve decided to reverse our course,” she explained. “Instead of flying east to west, we’ll be traveling west to east.”
    “Why is that?” inquired Mr. Forrestal.
    “Global weather patterns have changed since our first attempt,” she told him.
    “Then you’ll be flying over the Pacific at the end of your journey?”
    “Right,” said AE.
    “You know,” said FDR, “we’re beginning to hear disquieting news concerning Japanese activities in the mandates.”
    “I don’t understand,” said Amelia.
    “After the War,” explained the president as he placed a cigarette in his holder, “the League of Nations mandate prohibited all military activity in the South Pacific. Of course, the Japanese have now withdrawn from the League of Nations. I have information from personal sources—French, not American—that the Japs have ignored the mandate and are building oil storage tanks in the Carolines and the Marshall Islands. Shells for three-inch guns were seen being unloaded from supply ships—concrete airplane ramps, hangars, entire machine shops... Word is out that they’re dredging the harbor at Jaluit Island in order to make it navigable for big supply ships. When our own ships tried to call at Mili atoll, we were turned away. Apparently, there’s something very sensitive going on out there.”
    Forrestal offered FDR a light.
    “What do you presume their intentions to be, Mr. President?” Amelia boldly asked.
    The president took a reflective puff of his cigarette. “Amelia, you must understand,” he explained, “that our own intelligence-gathering agencies are radically under funded. I complain until I’m blue to the various appropriations committees, but in truth there’s not much I can do to influence the isolationists. Even if they can nurture a little ignorance, as president, I can’t afford such complacency. One way or another, I must know what’s going on out there.”
    Forrestal was next to speak: “I’d like to know, Mrs.