"Well, Misther Ebenezer Crane," and Terrence glanced at the secretary's long legs, as if he thought the name no misnomer, "will yez answer me a few questions?" "Certainly," and Mr. Crane threw down his pen, wheeled his chair about and looked vastly important. "What have you to ask?" "Why do you oppose the war?" "Why should I favor it?" "Don't the government promise protection to its citizens? Is not the blissed stars and stripes insulted by the British? Have not they set the murdherin' haythin to killin' innocent women and children on the frontier, and have they surrendered the posts as they should?" Mr. Crane, with one wave of his hand, swept away every objection. "That is all nothing!" he cried. "Nothing! howly mother, sir! do you call it nothing for Americans to be knocked down, carried aboard British ships, to be made slaves, to be flogged until they die, and shot if they object?" "Oh, those are all senseless, sensational stories, told for effect." "But I say they are true. I have jist returned from nearly four years service on a British man-o-war." "But, sir, we must look to the welfare of our country. What are the lives of a few sailors--common fellows--compared to the rich commerce we enjoy with England? The wealthy men of New England would surely be ruined by war." "Ye blackguard! do ye set up the riches of New England against the life of men because they are poor?" "Certainly," answered Mr. Crane, taking a cigar from his case, lighting it and proceeding to smoke. "What do Drake and Smoot, whom I represent, care for sailors like yourself? Why, if England wants such wretches, let her have them. We would sell them by the hundred, if we had our way. Caleb Strong, William Palmer and Roger Griswold, three of New England's leaders, will never allow a soldier to march from their states to fight the English--oh, no!" Terrence was now almost beside himself with rage. He vividly recalled the tyranny of Snipes, and remembered that many of his friends were still slaves aboard the man-of-war. His cheek flamed, and his eye flashed. Slowly rising, he said: "Do yez set up yer riches aginst the poor lads, better than yerself, who are dyin' by the hundreds in British slavery? Do ye? Why, ye spalpeen, ye have no more heart than a stone!" "I don't believe your stories in the first place, sir, and I don't care if they are true in the second. What is the life or happiness of such a low creature as yourself to the prosperity of Strong, Palmer or Griswold? I think that impudence has mounted its topmost round, when you dare enter these headquarters." "So yer for peace?" cried Terrence, his eyes dancing. "Yes."