"Yes--an administrative measure, too. I've an idea from the 'moderation' of your father's remarks that there'll be some fun between the White House and the Senate Chamber during the next four years. For my part I share his scorn for such eleventh hour repentance. It's too late. The mischief has been done. Secession is a fact and we've got to face it." "But we haven't heard from the new President yet," Betty ventured. "No. That's why this crowd's so still. For the first time since the foundation of the government, the thousands banked in front of this platform really wish to hear what a President-elect has to say." "Isn't that a tremendous tribute to the man?" "Possibly so--possibly not. He has been silent since his election. Not a word has fallen from his lips to indicate his policy. He has more real power from the moment he takes the oath of office than any crowned head of Europe. From his lips to-day will fall the word that means peace or war. That's why this crowd's so still." "It's weird," Betty whispered. "You can feel their very hearts beat. Do you suppose the new President realizes the meaning of such a moment?" "I don't think this one will. I interviewed Stanton, the retiring Attorney General of Buchanan's Cabinet, yesterday. He knows Lincoln personally--was with him in a lawsuit once before the United States Court. Stanton says he's a coward and a fool and the ugliest white man who ever appeared on this planet. He has already christened him 'The Original Gorilla,' or 'The Illinois Ape'----" "I wonder," Betty broke in with petulance, "if such a man could be elected President? I'm morbidly curious to see him. My father, as an Abolitionist, had to vote for him and he must support his administration as a Republican Senator. But his favorite name for the new Chief Magistrate is, 'The Illinois Slave Hound.' I've a growing feeling that his enemies have overdone their work. I'm going to judge him fairly." Vaughan's lips slightly curved. "They say he's a good stump speaker--a little shy on grammar, perhaps, but good on jokes--of the coarser kind. He ought to get one or two good guffaws even out of this sober crowd to-day." "You think he'll stoop to coarse jokes?" "Of course----" "Is that your brother?" Betty asked with a quick intake of breath, lifting her head toward a stalwart figure rapidly coming down the wide marble steps. Ned Vaughan looked up with a frown: "How did you recognize him?" "By his resemblance to you, of course." "Thanks." "You're as much alike as two black-eyed peas--except that you're more slender and boyish." "And not quite so good-looking?" A low mischievous laugh was her answer as John lifted his hat and stood smiling before them. "Miss Winter, this is my brother, whose praises I've long been chanting. I've a little work to do in the crowd--I'll be back in a few minutes."