He presented his case to the librarian, and was politely told that no one under twenty-one could be admitted.
“Ts this the final court of appeal?” said Seton.
“No, the Head Chief is Sir –––– ––––. His office is at the other end of the hall.”
So Seton sought out the great man, stating his case, and again met a polite refusal.
Will you kindly tell me if this is the supreme court, or is there yet a Caesar who could overrule all other decisions?”
The chief smiled and said: “I must take orders from the Trustees.”
“Who are they?”
“The Prince of Wales, the Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Beaconsfield are among them.”
“I shall appeal to them.”
The chief smiled and bowed as Seton left.
Now with characteristic energy, he set to work and wrote to each of the Trustees a carefully worded letter, setting forth his hopes and in simple language, showed how much it meant to him.
He hardly expected even an acknowledgement, but he felt better. He had done everything it was possible to do. He was surprised, first, to get a polite note from each of the three, saying they would consider the case. Then, after two ..text pokračuje
Rubcat from photo by W. H. Underwood
