The General refused to see or speak to them. Pike sought Vassar and begged him as an old political associate of Barker’s to secure ten minutes’ interview. “I assure you, Congressman,” Pike insisted in his nervous fidgety way, “that Barker may be able to open negotiations with the invaders if you will let us through the lines!” Vassar sought for ten minutes to dissuade Pike from his purpose. His faith was unshaken--in sheer asinine fatuity it was sublime. It was so ridiculous that the young leader decided that the best thing that could happen to the country was to get both Barker and Pike inside the enemy’s lines. Barker had not been able to reach New York for the Peace Jubilee. He had regarded this great work of his career complete--crowned with glorious success. He had passed on to greater things. So remarkable had been his triumph in the Parliament of Man, so complete the vindication of his theories of arbitration and moral suasion as a substitute for war, that he had been able to raise the price of his Chautauqua lecture fees to five hundred dollars guarantee and one-third the gate receipts. When the tragic crash came which threatened at one stroke to dislocate his process of reasoning and destroy his lecture bookings at the same moment, he was at the little town of Winona, Indiana, lecturing to five thousand enraptured Chautauqua peace enthusiasts. He had just finished counting the gate receipts, twenty-five hundred dollars on the day. His share was five hundred dollars and the half of the remaining thousand, making fifteen hundred dollars--the largest fee ever received by a lecturer in the history of the country. With a regretful look at their pile, he was congratulating the management on having so much left over after he had been paid, when the astounding message was read announcing the insurrection of two hundred thousand armed foreigners, their capture of the President, his Cabinet, the Capitol and the fall of the cities. The great man laughed. “It’s a huge hoax, my friends!” he shouted in soothing tones. “A wag is putting up a joke on me--that’s all. I’m an old timer. I take these things as they come--don’t worry.” His soothing words quieted the crowd for an hour until the second message arrived announcing the surrender of Chicago, and St. Louis to the same mysterious power and announcing that the landing from a great armada of the hostile army was hourly expected at New York. The silver-tongued orator at once took up his burden and hastened East to meet the coming foe. He lifted his hand in solemn invocation over the vast throng of panic-stricken hearers as he took his departure.