The Lion, a striking figure, with a graceful, snow-white mane and a colossal memory, held out a tireless hand. "Well met, Ben," he exclaimed in effusive tones. "I've been on the outlook for you all day. One moment--your pardon--one moment--Ah, my dear sir! my dear sir!" to a countryman who approached him with outstretched hand, "I am delighted. Remember you? Why, of course--of course! Your name has escaped me this instant; but I was speaking of you only yesterday. No, don't tell me! don't tell me. I remember. Ah, now I have it--one moment, please--it was after the battle of Seven Pines. You lent me a horse after the battle of Seven Pines. Thank you--thank you, sir. And your charming lady, who made me the delicious coffee. My best regards to her." The great man was surrounded, and Galt and Bassett, leaving him to his assailants, passed into the dining-room. Glancing hastily down the long room filled with small, overcrowded tables, they joined several men who were seated near an open window. "Hello, Major. Glad to see you, Mr. Slate! How are things down your way, Colonel?" A tired negro waiter, with a napkin slung over his arm, drew back the chairs and deposited two plates of lukewarm soup before the newcomers, after which he lifted a brush of variegated tissue paper and made valiant assault upon the flies which overran the tables. Stale odours of over-cooked food weighted the atmosphere, and waiters bearing enormous trays above their heads jostled one another as they threaded their difficult ways. Occasionally the clamour of voices was lost in the clatter of breaking dishes. Tom Bassett pushed his plate away and mopped his large forehead. He appeared to have developed without aging in the last fifteen years--still presenting an aspect of invincible respectability. "It's ninety-two degrees in the shade, if it's anything," he declared, adding, "Has anybody seen Webb to-day?" The colonel, whose name was Diggs, nodded with his mouth full, and, having swallowed at his leisure, proceeded to reply, holding his knife and fork poised for service. He was fair to the point of insipidity, and his weak blue eyes bulged with joviality. "Shook hands with him at the train last night," he said. "Hall was a day ahead of time. Great politician, Hall. Working for Webb like a beaver. Here, waiter! More potatoes." "I went to sleep last night to the music of Webb's men," said Galt, "and I awoke to the tune of Crutchfield. I don't believe either side went to bed. My wonder is whom they found to work on."