When they went down, left the hotel and stood upon the sidewalk, Mr. Force looked up and down the streets in search of that line of hacks which usually stands drawn up before every large hotel. But it was not to be seen. Inquiry of the porters developed a startling fact—nearly all the horses in Washington had a plague called epizoötic. There were but few hacks in the public service now, and they were always “on the go.” There were but few street cars running, because there were but few horses to draw them, and they were always overcrowded. “Shall we walk, Enderby? Or shall we stand on the reeking platform of one of these passing cars?” Mr. Force inquired. “Oh, walk, by all means, as long as we have a leg to stand on, in preference to adding three hundred pounds more to the burden of those poor beasts,” promptly replied the earl. “Fortunately, all the best hotels are on or near the avenue,” observed the squire, as they turned westward. “Now, doesn’t it seem as if war were quite enough of evil without a plague among the horses, Enderby?” inquired Abel Force. “You may thank Heaven that the plague is not among the humans,” replied the earl. “Here is the Metropolitan. We will try here,” said the squire. And they went in, but were not successful; the house was full. So hotel after hotel was tried, but in vain. All were full. The two gentlemen walked on toward the west end of the avenue. There at length they found, in one of the largest and best hotels in the city, a suit of three rooms—two double-bedded chambers and one single one. These were secured at once for their party of eight, and at a rather high price, too. Then they went back to the place where they had left the ladies of the party. The old skipper had already returned. Mr. Force reported progress, and described the best apartments he had been able to find. “You see there is scarcely space left for us in Washington. We must get back to old Maryland as fast as we can,” added the squire. Capt. Grandiere followed suit and told of his adventures. He had not been able to see the secretary at all. Anteroom full of lubbers who were seeking offices or other favors. He had to wait his turn, and before his turn came a fellow opened an inner door and announced that the secretary could see no one else that day, and added that he had gone home. Then he—the skipper—had gone down to the navy yard to inquire about the _Argente_, and discovered that the prize had been signaled from Fortress Monroe and was expected to be at Washington Navy Yard the next day. “And you shall see as fine a sight as you could wish when I am confronted with that devil to-morrow! He expects, by what we read, to be treated as a prisoner of war, and to be put on his parole and set free. He certainly doesn’t expect to find me on hand to stop his little game and send him to prison to be tried for his life, and in the end hung for piracy!” added the old skipper.