At the same time, the Assistant's countenance betrayed an inward appreciation of unspeakable fun. The member's face grew redder still, and still more red. The truth is, he had that morning received a note from Blake warning him of Harmon's journey to the Capital, and had just left his seat in the House, hastening to the Department, to secure the fatal letter before it betrayed his treachery. As we have seen, he was just too late. The Assistant took pleasure in seating the two visitors side by side upon the same sofa, and allowed them to entertain each other. But the conversation was forced, unnatural, embarrassing. At length Ames, resolved upon knowing the worst, plunged desperately into the all-important subject. "I suppose," said he, "you don't entirely get over the excitement at home about the post-office." "No, we don't," replied John Harmon, significantly; "and that ain't the worst of it." He bent over the end of the sofa, and deliberately, with the grimmest sort of smile, drew from his hat the Honorable member's private note. "And, somehow, it don't strike me," he added, glancing his eye over its contents, "that this letter of yours is going to lessen the excitement very materially. I suppose you know that hand-writing?" He thrust the letter into the Honorable member's face. The Honorable member's face flushed more fiery than before. He stammered, he smiled, he rubbed his handkerchief in his hands, and upon his brow. "My dear Harmon," said he, blandly, "I see you don't fully understand this business." "I'm sure I don't," cried John Harmon; "and I'd like to find the honest man who does! Didn't you pledge yourself to use your influence, if elected, to have Blake removed?" "Don't speak so loud!" whispered the Honorable member, who didn't at all fancy the humorous smile on the Assistant's face. "It's all right, I assure you. But this isn't exactly the place to talk over the affair. Come with me to my lodgings, and we'll discuss the matter." Not averse to discussion, John Harmon consented to the proposal. "I beg your pardon," said the Assistant Post Master General, "but that paper,--I cannot suffer that to be removed." It was the fatal letter. John Harmon wanted it; the Honorable member wanted it still more; but the Assistant insisted, and the document was left behind. Now, the Honorable member was in what is commonly termed a "fix." Like too many such politicians, who, nevertheless, as Mark Antony says, are "all honorable men," he had found it convenient to adopt the "good Lord, good devil" policy, using two oars to row his boat into the comfortable haven of public office.