As they got on the Fifth Street car, Stephen's attention was at once attracted to a gentleman who sat in a corner, with his children about him. He was lean, and he had a face of great keenness and animation. He had no sooner spied Judge Whipple than he beckoned to him with a kind of military abruptness. "That is Major William T. Sherman," said the Judge to Stephen. "He used to be in the army, and fought in the Mexican War. He came here two months ago to be the President of this Fifth Street car line." They crossed over to him, the Judge introducing Stephen to Major Sherman, who looked at him very hard, and then decided to bestow on him a vigorous nod. "Well, Whipple," he said, "this nation is going to the devil; eh?" Stephen could not resist a smile. For it was a bold man who expressed radical opinions (provided they were not Southern opinions) in a St. Louis street car early in '61. The Judge shook his head. "We may pull out," he said. "Pull out!" exclaimed Mr. Sherman. "Who's man enough in Washington to shake his fist in a rebel's face? Our leniency--our timidity--has paralyzed us, sir." By this time those in the car began to manifest considerable interest in the conversation. Major Sherman paid them no attention, and the Judge, once launched in an argument, forgot his surroundings. "I have faith in Mr. Lincoln. He is calling out volunteers." "Seventy-five thousand for three months!" said the Major, vehemently, "a bucketful on a conflagration I tell you, Whipple, we'll need all the water we've got in the North." The Judge expressed his belief in this, and also that Mr. Lincoln would draw all the water before he got through. "Upon my soul," said Mr. Sherman, "I'm disgusted. Now's the time to stop 'em. The longer we let 'em rear and kick, the harder to break 'em. You don't catch me going back to the army for three months. If they want me, they've got to guarantee me three years. That's more like it." Turning to Stephen, he added: "Don't you sign any three months' contract, young man." Stephen grew red. By this time the car was full, and silent. No one had offered to quarrel with the Major. Nor did it seem likely that any one would. "I'm afraid I can't go, sir." "Why not?" demanded Mr. Sherman. "Because, sir," said the Judge, bluntly, "his mother's a widow, and they have no money. He was a lieutenant in one of Blair's companies before the call came." The Major looked at Stephen, and his expression changed. "Find it pretty hard?" he asked. Stephen's expression must have satisfied him, but he nodded again, more vigorously than before. "Just you WAIT, Mr. Brice," he said. "It won't hurt you any." Stephen was grateful. But he hoped to fall out of the talk. Much to his discomfiture, the Major gave him another of those queer looks. His whole manner, and even his appearance, reminded Stephen strangely of Captain Elijah Brent. "Aren't you the young man who made the Union speech in Mercantile Library Hall?"