But Thompson was not arrested, so that the last recorded act of Lincoln as President was one of mercy. * * * * * In the upper stage-box, to the right of the audience, that evening, sat Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, Mrs. Lincoln, a friend, Miss Harris, and an officer, Major Henry R. Rathbone. The cares of State seemed to have slipped for the moment from Lincoln's shoulders. He had bowed smilingly from the box in response to the cheers of the packed audience in the body of the house. He had followed intently the action of the amusing play, constantly smiling, often applauding. The eyes of the little party of four were bent upon the stage, about ten o'clock, when the door of the box was jerked violently open behind them. As they turned at the noise, Death stalked in upon them. * * * * * Five minutes before, Tom Strong had been idly strolling along Tenth Street and had paused at the theater door to read the play-bills posted there. A small group of belated play-goers was at the ticket-booth. A man shoved roughly through them. A woman's "Oh!" of surprise and protest drew Tom's attention to the man. He had seen him but thrice before, yet the man's face was engraved upon his memory. Once, at Charlestown, Virginia, Wilkes Booth had stood in the ranks of the militia, eagerly awaiting the execution of John Brown. Once, upon a railroad train north of Baltimore, Wilkes Booth had drugged the boy and left him, as the scoundrel thought, to die. Once, upon a railroad platform at Kingston, Alabama, Wilkes Booth had recognized him and had again sought his death. Whose death did he seek to compass now? What was the Confederate spy doing here? Tom had scarcely glimpsed the hawk-like features, the pallid face, the flowing black hair of his foe, when Booth disappeared from his sight in the crowded lobby of the theater. Instantly Tom pursued him. But he was delayed by the little group through whom Booth had elbowed his rough way. And when he reached the ticket-window, he found no money in his pocket with which to buy admittance. He had put on civilian clothes that evening and had left his scanty store of currency in his uniform. The wary ticket-seller, used to all sorts of dodges by people who wanted to get in without paying, laughed at his story and refused to give him a ticket on trust. Tom's claim that he was an officer caused especial amusement. "That won't go down, bub," said the ticket-seller. "Try to think up a better lie next time. And clear out now. Don't block up the passageway." "I _must_ get in," said Tom. "You shan't," snarled the man, sure that he was being imposed upon.