Aaron, gaveling the Senate in the way it should legislatively go, pays no apparent heed to the smoky doings of his warlike subordinates. He never takes his eyes from Hamilton, however; and, if that retired publicist, complaining in his garden, would but cast his glance that way, he might read in their black ophidian depths a saving warning. But Hamilton is blind or mad, and thinks only on what he may do to injure Aaron, and never once on what that perilous Vice-President might be carrying on the shoulder of his purposes. Hamilton devotes his garden leisure to vilifying Aaron. He goes stark staring raving Aaron-mad; at the mention of the name he pours out a muddy stream of slander. In talk, in print, in what letters he indites, Aaron is accused of every infamy. There is nothing so preposterously vile that he does not charge him with it. Aaron looks on and listens with a grim, evil smile, saying nothing. It is as though he but waits for Hamilton’s offenses to ripen in their accumulation, as one waits for apples to ripen on a tree. At last the hour of harvest comes; Aaron leaves Washington for Richmond Hill, and sends for his friend Van Ness. “You once marveled at my Hamilton moderation--wondered that I did not stop his slanders with convincing lead?” “Yes,” says Van Ness. “You shall wonder no longer, my friend. The hour of his death is about to strike.” Van Ness breaks into a gale of protest. Hamilton, beaten, disgraced, deposed, is in political exile! Aaron, powerful, victorious, is on the crest of fortune! There is no fairness, no equality in an exchange of shots under such circumstances! Thus runs the opposition of Van Ness. “In short,” he concludes, “it would be a fight downhill--a fight that you, in justice to yourself, have no right to make. Who is Alexander Hamilton? Nobody--a beaten nobody! Who is Aaron Burr? The second officer of the nation, on his sure way to a White House! Let me say, sir, that you must not risk so much against so little.” “There is no risk; for I shall kill the man. I shall live and he shall die.” “Cannot you see? There is the White House! Adams went from the Vice-Presidency to the Presidency; Jefferson went from the Vice-Presidency to the Presidency; you will do the same. It’s as though the White House were already yours. And you would throw it away for a shot at this broken, beaten, disregarded man! For let me tell you, sir; kill Hamilton and you kill your chance of being President. No one may hope to go into the White House on the back of a duel.” About Aaron’s mouth twinkles a pale smile. It lights up his face with a cold dimness, as a will-o’-the-wisp lights up the midnight blackness of a wood. “You have a memory only for what I lose. You forget what I gain.” “What you gain?” “Ay, friend, what I gain. I shall gain vengeance; and I would sooner be revenged than be President.” “Now this is midsummer madness!” wails Van Ness. “To throw away a career such as yours is simple frenzy!”