Hale spoke with the glow of personal pride, and with the sense of personal ownership the American feels in the ruler he has helped to raise to power, and is just as ready to pull down if he doesn't do all things to suit him. Pusey and Hale were back again before Garwood had finished the coffee and roll which he had ordered sent to his room. "Sit down, boys," he said, speaking with his mouth full of the roll, "I'll be at your service presently. What have you been doing to kill the time? Seeing the sights?" "Well, we went up to look at the president," said Hale, for Pusey was looking out of the window with his usual lack of interest, until a belated fly crawled torpidly over the cold pane, and then he tapped at it with his little stick. "See him?" asked Garwood. "No, couldn't get near him. Guess he's got the swelled head, hain't he?" Garwood laughed. "Oh, well, you know he's busy. Possibly he was at a cabinet meeting. Let's see, is this Friday? I'll fix it for you though. I'll take you over to see him before you go back. When'd you get in?" "Just got here this morning," said Hale. "I come to talk over with you that little matter about--" He looked all around the room as if spies were concealed somewhere, "about the post-office at Pekin--you know." "Oh, yes!" said Garwood, with unusual cheerfulness for a congressman when a post-office is mentioned, "I'll take care of that, Joe." Garwood got up, with a wrench of pain. "God," he exclaimed, "I feel old this morning." "Ain't you well?" asked Hale, solicitously. "Oh, just a touch of rheumatism, I reckon--head aches, too, like the devil. Wait till I kiss the baby good by and I'll be with you." He went into the adjoining room. "Fond of his family, ain't he?" said Hale, approvingly. "I believe I've heard as much intimated," answered Pusey. Garwood returned with his overcoat and hat and gloves, and they went out. He spent the day with them, tramping about through the rain, and at night took them to the theater, one of the sacrifices a congressman must make when his constituents come to Washington. When he returned to the hotel at midnight, and went up to his rooms, he found his wife sitting before a fire she had had laid in the grate. She was dressed and her little traveling-bag stood on the marble-top center table, with her hat and veil and rolled-up gloves beside it. "Why!" he said, in surprise, "what's the matter?" She turned and lifted to him a face that was stained with tears. Then she rose, holding out her arms towards him. "Oh, Jerome!" she said. "I'm--going home!" "Why--Em--dearie! What's the matter! Tell me, what's the matter?" He had gone close to her and taken her in his arms, and he made his question the demand of a man who does not like to deal with tears: "What's the matter, I say, tell me!" A tone of terror had got into his voice.