, that's much better," growled Clay, sullenly. "The way you went
on wishing you were dead and hating yourself made me almost lose faith
in mankind. Now you go make that speech to the President, and then
find the man who put up those placards, and if you can't find the right
man, take any man you meet and make him eat it, paste and all, and beat
him to death if he doesn't. Why, this is no time to whimper--because
the world is full of liars. Go out and fight them and show them you
are not afraid. Confound you, you had me so scared there that I almost
thrashed you myself. Forgive me, won't you?" he begged earnestly. He
rose and held out his hand and the other took it, doubtfully. "It was
your own fault, you young idiot," protested Clay. "You told your story
the wrong way. Now go home and get some sleep and I'll be back in a
few hours to help you. Look!" he said. He pointed through the trees
to the sun that shot up like a red hot disk of heat above the cool
green of the mountains. "See," said Clay, "God has given us another
day. Seven battles were fought in seven days once in my country.
Let's be thankful, old man, that we're NOT dead, but alive to fight our
own and other people's battles."

The younger man sighed and pressed Clay's hand again before he dropped
it.

"You are very good to me," he said. "I'm not just quite myself this
morning. I'm a bit nervous, I think. You'll surely come, won't you?"

"By noon," Clay promised. "And if it does come," he added, "don't
forget my fifteen hundred men at the mines."

"Good! I won't," Stuart replied. "I'll call on you if I need them."
He raised his fingers mechanically to his helmet in salute, and
catching up his sword turned and strode away erect and soldierly
through the debris and weeds of the deserted plaza.

Clay remained motionless on the steps of the pedestal and followed the
younger man with his eyes. He drew a long breath and began a leisurely
search through his pockets for his match-box, gazing about him as he
did so, as though looking for some one to whom he could speak his
feelings. He lifted his eyes to the stern, smooth-shaven face of the
bronze statue above him that seemed to be watching Stuart's departing
figure.

"General Bolivar," Clay said, as he lit his cigar, "observe that young
man. He is a soldier and a gallant gentleman. You, sir, were a great
soldier--the greatest this God-forsaken country will ever know--and you
were, sir, an arden