The Southerner: A Romance of the Real Lincoln Part 20

The dark eyes met hers.

"No, he hasn't seen you yet----"

Betty's laugh was genial and contagious.

He had meant to be serious and hoped that she would give him the opening he'd been sparring for. But she refused the challenge with such amus.e.m.e.nt he was piqued.

"You're from Missouri, but you're a true Southerner, Mr. Vaughan."

"And you're a heartless Puritan," he answered with a frown.

She shook her golden brown curls:

"No--no--no! My name's an accident. My father was born in Maine on the Canada line. But my mother was French. I'm her daughter. I love sunlight and flowers, music and foolishness--and dream of troubadours who sing under my window. I hate long faces and gloom. But my father has ambition. I love him, and so I endure things."

Ned Vaughan looked at her timidly. For the life of him he couldn't make her out. Was she laughing at him? He half suspected it, and yet there was something sweet and appealing in the way she gazed into his eyes. He gave it up and changed the subject.

He had promised to bring John to-day and introduce him. He had been prattling like a fool about this older brother. He wished to G.o.d now something would keep him. The pangs of jealousy had already began to gnaw at the thought of her hand resting in his.

From the way Betty Winter had laughed she was quite capable of flying two strings to her bow. And with all the keener interest because they happened to be brothers. Why had she asked him so pointedly about John? He had excited her curiosity, of course, by his silly brother--hero-wors.h.i.+p. He had told her of his brilliant career in New York under Horace Greeley on the _Tribune_--of Greeley's personal interest, and the flattering letter he had written to Colonel Forney, which had made him the city editor of the New Party organ in Was.h.i.+ngton--of his cool heroism the night the mob had attacked the _Republican_ office--and last he had hinted of an affair over a woman in New York that had led to a challenge and a bloodless duel--bloodless because his opponent failed to appear. It was his own fault, of course, if Betty was keeping him at arm's length to-day. No girl could fail to be interested in such a man--no matter who her father might be--Puritan or Cavalier.

His arm trembled in spite of his effort at self-control as he led her down the stately steps of the eastern facade toward the Inaugural platform. He paused on the edge of the boards and pointed to the huge bronze figure of the statue of Liberty which had been cast to crown the dome of the Capitol. It lay prostrate in the mud and the crowds were climbing over it.

"I wonder if Miss Liberty will ever be lifted to her place on high?" he said musingly.

"If they do finish the dome," Betty replied, "and crown it with that bronze, my father should sue for damages. One of his most eloquent figures of speech will be ruined. That prostrate work of art lying in the mud has given thousands of votes to the Republicans. I've caught myself crying over his eloquence at times myself."

Ned Vaughan smiled:

"A queer superst.i.tion has grown up in Was.h.i.+ngton that the dome of the Capitol will never be completed----"

"Do you believe it?"

"No. It will be finished. But I'm not sure whether Abraham Lincoln or Jefferson Davis will preside on that occasion."

"And I haven't the slightest doubt on that point," Betty said with quick emphasis.

"I thought you were not a student of politics?" he dryly observed.

"I'm not. It's just a feeling. Women know things by intuition."

The young man glanced upward at the huge crane which swung from the unfinished structure of the dome.

"Anyhow, Miss Betty," he said smilingly, "your Black Republican President has a beautiful day for the Inaugural."

"We'll hope it's a sign for the future--shall we?"

"I hope so," was the serious answer. "G.o.d knows there haven't been many happy signs lately. It was dark and threatening at dawn this morning and a few drops of rain fell up to eight o'clock."

"You were up at dawn?" the girl asked in surprise.

"Yes. The Senate has been in session all night over the new amendment to the Const.i.tution guaranteeing to the South security in the possession of their slaves."

"And they pa.s.sed it?"

"Yes----"

"Over my father's prostrate form?"

"Yes--an administrative measure, too. I've an idea from the 'moderation'

of your father's remarks that there'll be some fun between the White House and the Senate Chamber during the next four years. For my part I share his scorn for such eleventh hour repentance. It's too late. The mischief has been done. Secession is a fact and we've got to face it."

"But we haven't heard from the new President yet," Betty ventured.

"No. That's why this crowd's so still. For the first time since the foundation of the government, the thousands banked in front of this platform really wish to hear what a President-elect has to say."

"Isn't that a tremendous tribute to the man?"

"Possibly so--possibly not. He has been silent since his election. Not a word has fallen from his lips to indicate his policy. He has more real power from the moment he takes the oath of office than any crowned head of Europe. From his lips to-day will fall the word that means peace or war. That's why this crowd's so still."

"It's weird," Betty whispered. "You can feel their very hearts beat. Do you suppose the new President realizes the meaning of such a moment?"

"I don't think this one will. I interviewed Stanton, the retiring Attorney General of Buchanan's Cabinet, yesterday. He knows Lincoln personally--was with him in a lawsuit once before the United States Court. Stanton says he's a coward and a fool and the ugliest white man who ever appeared on this planet. He has already christened him 'The Original Gorilla,' or 'The Illinois Ape'----"

"I wonder," Betty broke in with petulance, "if such a man could be elected President? I'm morbidly curious to see him. My father, as an Abolitionist, had to vote for him and he must support his administration as a Republican Senator. But his favorite name for the new Chief Magistrate is, 'The Illinois Slave Hound.' I've a growing feeling that his enemies have overdone their work. I'm going to judge him fairly."

Vaughan's lips slightly curved.

"They say he's a good stump speaker--a little shy on grammar, perhaps, but good on jokes--of the coa.r.s.er kind. He ought to get one or two good guffaws even out of this sober crowd to-day."

"You think he'll stoop to coa.r.s.e jokes?"

"Of course----"

"Is that your brother?" Betty asked with a quick intake of breath, lifting her head toward a stalwart figure rapidly coming down the wide marble steps.

Ned Vaughan looked up with a frown:

"How did you recognize him?"

"By his resemblance to you, of course."

"Thanks."

"You're as much alike as two black-eyed peas--except that you're more slender and boyish."

"And not quite so good-looking?"