There were eight of them now and the last one had been the best of all. His father was coming to London and wanted to see him. He was so excited to think he would be meeting him in secret. He’d wangled an invitation to stay with Charlie Potter, the son of a vicar with a parish near Wimbledon. They were going to see the city sights: the Crown Jewels, the museums, the Changing of the Guard. He would be down there for two whole weeks while his father was sailing into Southampton and coming by train to their London factory in Silvertown for important meetings. He couldn’t believe he’d had the nerve to write. Getting the address was easy when Grandpa had told him that Pa worked for the Diamond Rubber Company in Akron. He had an important job there and was bound to get letters. He’d written in evening prep, putting his School House address at the top in his very best handwriting, and with his dictionary by his side. The first letter was the hardest because he didn’t know if his dad would be cross with him.
