Another interruption, thought Thorne, desperately fingering the keys. If they would only give him a minute more he could complete the order, but he was not to have that minute apparently. “Wait, Captain,” said General Randolph quickly, and again the key was silent. “Now, sir,” he said to Lieutenant Foray, “where did you come from!” The Lieutenant did not all comprehend what was toward, but his answer to that question was plain. “There was some mistake, sir,” he answered, saluting. “Ah!” cried Arrelsford, a note of triumph in his voice. “Who made it?” asked the General. “I got an order to go to the President’s house,” returned Foray, “and when I got there the President——” Thorne made one last attempt to complete his message. “Beg pardon, General, this delay will be most disastrous. Permit me to go on with this message. If there’s any mistake, we can rectify it afterward.” He seized the key and continued sending the message as he spoke. “No!” cried Arrelsford. General Randolph either did not hear Thorne’s speech or heed it, or else he did not care to prevent him, and he continued his questioning. “Where did you get this mistaken order?” he asked. But Arrelsford, intensely alive to what was going on, interposed. “He’s at it again, sir!” “Halt, there!” said General Randolph. “I ordered you to wait.” The despatch was almost completed. Thorne ground his teeth with rage in his impatience. He had tried audacity before, he would try it again. “I was sent here to attend to the business of this office and that business is going out,” he said resolutely. “No,” said General Randolph with equal firmness, “it is not going out until I am ready for it.” “My orders come from the War Department, not from you, sir. This despatch came in half an hour ago,” answered Thorne angrily, his voice rising, “they are calling for it at the other end of the line. It’s my business to send it out and I am going to do it.” “Stop!” said General Randolph, as Thorne began to send the message again. “Sergeant, seize that man and keep him from that machine.” Well, the last hope was gone. As the Sergeant stepped forward to execute his orders, Thorne, desperately determined to the last, clicked out a letter, but he was cut short in the middle of a word. The Sergeant and two men dragged him away, chair and all, from the table, and two others posted themselves in front of the key. “I will have you court-martialled for this, sir,” said General Randolph angrily. “You will have to answer yourself,” cried Thorne, playing the game to the last, “for the delay of a despatch of vital importance, sent by the Secretary of War.” “Do you mean that?” cried Randolph. “I mean just that,” answered Thorne, “and I demand that you let me proceed with the business of this office. Before these officers and men I repeat that demand.” “By what authority do you send that despatch?” “I refer you to the Department, sir.” “Show me your orders for taking charge of this office.”