of his life--hardly."

The straight orderly saluted and ushered them into the elegant reception
room--the room so often graced by the Prince de Joinville and the Comte
de Paris, of the General's staff.

The orderly sniffed the air in a superior butler style:

"The General has not come in yet, gentlemen."

"We'll wait," was the President's quick response.

They sat in silence and the minutes dragged.

The young Secretary, in rising wrath, looked again and again at the
clock.

"Don't be so impatient, John," the quiet, even voice said. "Great bodies
move slowly, they say--come here and sit down--I'll tell you a secret.
The Cabinet knows it--and you can, too."

He leaned his giant figure forward in his chair and touched an official
document which he had drawn from his pocket.

"Great events hang on this battle. I've written out here a challenge to
mortal combat for all our foes, North, South, East and West. I'm going
to free the slaves if we win this battle and we're sure to win it----"

Hay glanced at the door with a startled look.

"McClellan and I don't agree on this subject and he mightn't fight as
well if he knew it. It's a thing of doubtful wisdom at its best to hurl
this challenge into the face of my foe. But the time has come and it
must be done. We have made no headway in this war, and we must crush the
South to end it. If the Copperhead leaders should get control of the
Democratic party because of it--well, it means trouble at home. Douglas
is dead and the jackal is trying to wear the lion's skin. He may
succeed, but then I must risk it. I'll lose some good soldiers from the
army but I've got to do it. All I'm waiting for now is a victory on
which to launch my thunderbolt----"

A key clicked in the front door and the quick, firm step of McClellan
echoed through the hall.

The orderly was reporting his distinguished visitor. They could hear his
low words, and the sharp answer.

The General mounted the stairs and entered the front room overhead. He
was there, of course, to arrange his toilet. He was a stickler for
handsome clothes, spotless linen and the last detail of ceremony.

Again the minutes dragged. The tick of the clock on the mantel rang
through the silent room and the face of the younger man grew red with
rage.

Unable to endure the insolence of a subordinate toward the great
Chieftain, whom he loved with a boy's blind devotion, Hay sprang to his
feet:

"Let's go, sir!"

The big ha