Anna's Back

One day last week a rickety, hard-used little toy wagon, with most of the red paint scuffed off the magic word "Express" on its side, was parked casually at the base of the fat, towering northwest column of the White House front portico. Beside it rested a vehicular gadget best known to childhood as an "Irish Mail," a contraption very like a railroad handcar.

Both these toys lay neglected as Master John Boettiger, 5, pursued his recurring ambition to become a White House guard. But not for long. Interests ebb & flow fast at five. Soon, Johnny was back at his...

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