of the public were on him also, and his eyes rolled about, now towards
the ceiling, now towards the floor, in an effort to look unconscious.
“Good morning, Miss Hawkins. Delighted. Mr. Hawkins. My friend, Miss
Medlar.”
Mr. Hawkins, who was endeavoring to square himself for a bow, put his
foot through the train of Mrs. Senator Poplin, who looked round with a
scowl, which turned into a smile as she saw who it was. In extricating
himself, Mr. Hawkins, who had the care of his hat as well as the
introduction on his mind, shambled against Miss Blanche, who said pardon,
with the prettiest accent, as if the awkwardness were her own. And Mr.
Hawkins righted himself.
“Don’t you find it very warm to-day, Mr. Hawkins?” said Blanche, by way
of a remark.
It’s awful hot,” said Washington.
“It’s warm for the season,” continued Blanche pleasantly. “But I suppose
you are accustomed to it,” she added, with a general idea that the
thermometer always stands at 90 deg. in all parts of the late slave
states. “Washington weather generally cannot be very congenial to you?”
“It’s congenial,” said Washington brightening up, “when it’s not
congealed.”
“That’s very good. Did you hear, Grace, Mr. Hawkins says it’s congenial
when it’s not congealed.”
“What is, dear?” said Grace, who was talking with Laura.
The conversation was now finely under way. Washington launched out an
observation of his own.
“Did you see those Japs, Miss Leavitt?”
“Oh, yes, aren’t they queer. But so high-bred, so picturesque. Do you
think that color makes any difference, Mr. Hawkins? I used to be so
prejudiced against color.”
“Did you? I never was. I used to think my old mammy ,was handsome.”
“How interesting your life must have been! I should like to hear about
it.”
Washington was about settling himself into his narrative style,
when Mrs. Gen. McFingal caught his eye.
“Have you been at the Capitol to-day, Mr. Hawkins?”
Washington had not. “Is anything uncommon going on?”
“They say it was very exciting. The Alabama business you know.
Gen. Sutler, of Massachusetts, defied England, and they say he wants
war.”
“He wants to make himself conspicuous more like,” said Laura.
“He always, you have noticed, talks with one eye on the gallery, while
the other is on the speaker.”
“Well, my husband says, its nonsense to talk of war, and wicked.
He knows what war is. If we do have war, I hope it will be for the
patriots of Cuba. Don’t you think we want Cuba, Mr. Hawkins?”
“I think we want it bad,” said Washington. “And Santo Domingo. Senator
Dilworthy says, we are bound to extend our religion over the isles of the
sea. We’ve got to round out our territory, and–”
Washington’s further observations were broken off by Laura, who whisked
him off to another part of the room, and reminded him that they must make
their adieux.
“How stupid and tiresome these people are,” she said. “Let’s go.”
They were turning to say good-by to the hostess, when Laura’s attention
was arrested by the sight of a gentleman who was just speaking to Mrs.
Schoonmaker. For a second her heart stopped beating. He was a handsome
man of forty and perhaps more, with grayish hair and whiskers, and he
walked with a cane, as if he were slightly lame. He might be less than
forty, for his face was worn into hard lines, and he was pale.
No. It could not be, she said to herself. It is only a resemblance.
But as the gentleman turned and she saw his full face, Laura put out her
hand and clutched Washington’s arm to prevent herself from falling.
Washington, who was not minding anything, as usual, looked ’round in
wonder. Laura’s eyes were blazing fire and hatred; he had never seen her
look so before; and her face, was livid.
“Why, what is it, sis? Your face is as white as paper.”
“It’s he, it’s he. Come, come,” and she dragged him away.
“It’s who?” asked Washington, when they had gained the carriage.
“It’s nobody, it’s nothing. Did I say he? I was faint with the heat.
Don’t mention it. Don’t you speak of it,” she added earnestly, grasping