The President turned to the crowd which had already poured into the room. As usual, the cranks and inventors led the way. The inventors found the President an easy man to talk to. His mind was quick to see a good point and always open to conviction. He had once patented a device for getting flat boats over shoals himself. His immediate approval of the first model of Ericsson's famous _Monitor_ had led to its adoption in time to meet and destroy the _Merrimac_ in Hampton Roads on the very day the iron terror had sent his big ships to the bottom. He allowed no inventor to be turned from the door of the White House no matter how ridiculous his hobby might appear. The inventions relating to the science of war he would test himself on the big open field between the White House grounds and the river. The first inventor in line carried the model of a new rifle which would shoot sixteen times. The army officers believed in the idea of a single shell breech loader on account of the simplicity of its mechanism. Our muskets were still muzzle loaders and the men were compelled to use ramrods to load. The President examined the new gun with keen interest, pulled his black, shaggy beard thoughtfully, looked at the breathless inventor, and slowly mused: "Well, now as the fat girl said when she pulled on her stocking, it strikes me there's something in it!" The inventor laughed with nervous joy, and watched him write a card of endorsement: "Take that to the War Department, and tell them I like your idea--I want them to look into it." His face wreathed in smiles, the man pushed his way through the crowd, and hurried to the War Department. The next one was a little fellow who had a gun of marvellous model, double-barrelled, with the barrels crossed. The President adjusted his spectacles and took a second look before he made any comment. He lifted his bristling eyebrows: "What's it for?" "For cross-eyed men, sir!" he whispered. "You don't say?" he roared. "Yes, sir," the little man continued eagerly. "The cross-eyed men ain't never had no chance in this war. They turn 'em all down. They won't take 'em as soldiers. That gun'll fix 'em. Push a regiment o' good cross-eyed men to the front with that gun a-pourin' hot lead from two barrels at the same time an' every man er cross firin' at the enemy an' we'll jist natchally make hash outen 'em, sir----" "And we may need the cross-eyed men, too, before the war ends." The sombre eyes twinkled thoughtfully. "Thank you, my friend, when I draft the cross-eyed men come in again and we'll talk it over. Your heart's in the right place, anyhow." He glanced doubtfully at the little skillet-shaped head and reached over his shoulder for the next one. It was a bullet proof shirt for soldiers--a coat of mail which weighed fifty pounds. "How long do you think a man could march with that thing on and the thermometer at ninety-eight in the shade?"