The Southerner. Jr. Thomas Dixon
She stopped suddenly and waved her hand toward the group of excited men who had gathered around Senator Winter.
A smile of recognition lighted the sombre Puritan face, as he pushed his friends aside and rapidly approached.
"How's my little girl?" he cried tenderly. "Enjoy the show?"
"Yes, dear, immensely—you know Mr. John Vaughan, Father, don't you?"
The old man smiled grimly as he extended his hand:
"I know who he is—though I haven't had the honor of an introduction. I'm glad to see you, Mr. Vaughan—though I don't agree with many of your editorials."
"We'll hope for better things in the future, Senator," John laughed.
"What's your impression of the Inaugural, Senator?" Ned asked, with a twinkle of mischief in his eye.
"You are asking me that as a reporter, young man, or as a friend of my daughter?"
"Both, sir."
"Then I'll give you two answers. One for the public and one for you. I've an idea you're going to be a rebel, sir——"
"We hope not, Senator," John protested.
"I've my suspicions from an interview we had once. But you're a good reporter, sir. I trust your ability and honesty however deeply I suspect your patriotism. As a Republican Senator I say to you for publication: The President couldn't well have said less. It might have been unwise to say more. To you, as a budding young rebel and a friend of my daughter, I say, with the utmost frankness, that I have no power to express my contempt for that address. From the lips of the man we elected to strangle Slavery fell the cowardly words:
"'I have no purpose directly or indirectly to interfere with the institution of Slavery in the States where it exists'——"
The grim blue-grey eyes flashed with rage, he paused for breath and then, livid with suppressed emotion, continued:
"For fifty years every man who has stood on this platform to take the oath as President has turned his face to the South and bowed the knee to Baal. We hoped for better things to-day——" He paused a moment and his eyes filled with angry tears:
"How long, O Lord! How long!"
"But you mustn't forget, Senator, that he didn't run and we didn't win on an Abolition platform. We only raised the issue of the extension of Slavery into the new territories——"
"Yes!" the old man sneered. "But you didn't fool the South! They are past masters in the art of politics. The South is seceding because they know that the Republican Party was organized to destroy Slavery—and that its triumph is a challenge to a life and death fight on that issue. It's a waste of time to beat the devil round the stump. We've got to face it. I hate a trimmer and a coward!—But don't you dare print that for a while, young man——"
"Hardly, sir," Ned answered with a smile.
"I've got to support my own administration for a few days at least—and then!—well, we won't cross any bridges till we come to them."
He stopped abruptly and turned to John:
"Come to see us, Mr. Vaughan. Your paper should be a power before the end of the coming four years. I know Forney, your chief. I'd like to know you better——"
"Thank you, Senator," the young editor responded cordially.
"Can't you dine with us to-morrow night, Mr. Vaughan?" Betty asked, unconsciously bending toward his straight, well poised figure. Ned observed her with a frown, and heard John's answer in a sudden surge of anger.
"Certainly, Miss Betty, with pleasure."
To Ned's certain knowledge it was the first invitation of the kind he had accepted since his advent in Washington. Again he cursed himself for a fool for introducing them.
Betty beamed her friendliest look straight into his eyes and softly said:
"You'll come, of course, Mr. Ned?"
For the life of him he couldn't get back his conventional tones for an answer. His voice trembled in spite of his effort.
"Thank you," he said slowly, "it will not be possible. I've an assignment at the White House for that evening."
He turned abruptly and left them.
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