"It's no use, my boy," he said at last, with a weary gesture. "I'm not going to tell you anything to-day----" he paused, and the light suddenly flashed from beneath his shaggy brows, "----except this--you can say to your readers that my course is as plain as a turnpike road. It is marked out by the Constitution. I am in no doubt which way to go. I am going to try to save the Union." "In short," Ned laughed, "you propose to stand by your Inaugural?" "That's a pretty good guess, young man! I'm surprised that you paid such close attention to my address." "Perhaps I had an interpreter?" "Did you?" "Yes." "Who?" "A very beautiful young woman, Mr. President," Ned answered serenely. The hazel-grey eyes twinkled: "What's her name, sir?" "Miss Betty Winter." "Not the daughter of that old grizzly bear who's always camping on my trail?" "The same, sir." The swarthy face lighted with a radiant smile: "What did she say about my Inaugural?" "That it was the utterance of a wise, patient, great man." Two big hands suddenly closed on Ned's and the tall figure bent low. "Thank you for telling me that, my boy. It helps me after a hard day!" "She said many other things, too, sir," Ned added. "Did she?" "With enthusiasm." "Tell her to come to me," the President said slowly. "I want to talk to her." He paused, turned to his desk and seized a pen: "I'll send a subpoena for her--that's better." On one of his cards he quickly wrote: "MY DEAR MISS WINTER: "You are hereby summoned to immediately appear before the Chief Magistrate to testify concerning grave matters of State. A. LINCOLN." He slipped his long arm around Ned's shoulder and walked with him to the door: "Serve that on her for me, will you, right away?" With a nod and a smile, the reporter bowed and turned his steps toward the Senator's house. CHAPTER III IN BETTY'S GARDEN Ned Vaughan paused with a moment of indecision before the plain, old-fashioned, brick house in which Senator Winter lived on the Capitol Hill. It was a confession of abject weakness to decline her invitation to dinner with his brother and jump at the first chance to butt in before the dinner hour. Why should he worry? She was too serious and honest to play with any man, to say nothing of an attempt to flirt with two at the same time. He refused to believe in the seriousness of any impression she had made on his brother's conceited fancy. His light love affairs had become notorious in his set. He was only amusing himself with Betty and she was too simple and pure to understand. Yet to warn her at this stage of the game against his own brother was obviously impossible. He suddenly turned on his heel: "I'm a fool. I'll wait till to-morrow!" He walked rapidly to the corner, stopped abruptly, turned back to the door and rang the bell. "Anyhow, I'm not a coward!" he muttered.