At Rouses Point, on the U.S.-Canadian border, the twelve-car train jerked to a stop, and three Canadian cars, loaded with officials, were spliced into its middle. A small crowd of Canadians and Americans, bundled in overcoats and Macki-naws, stamped their feet and waited along the siding until a sleepy-eyed man in blue pajamas and a maroon dressing gown appeared on the rear platform. He ran a hand through his sparse hair and grinned. "Hi, there," said Ike Eisenhower. "I'm sorry I'm not dressed." He shivered a minute in the near-freezing cold, glanced at the scarlet-coated Canadian Royal Mounted Policeman...
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