e other men. Do I smell gunpowder?
What's up now--what do you want to see Grant about?"

Jethro cast his eye around the corridor, where a few men were taking
their ease after supper, and looked at the senator mysteriously.

"Any place where we can talk?" he demanded.

"We can go into the writing room and shut the door," answered the
senator, more amused than ever.

When Cynthia came downstairs, Jethro was standing with the gentleman in
the corridor leading to the dining room, and she heard the gentleman say
as he took his departure:--"I haven't forgotten what you did for us in
'70, Jethro. I'll go right along and see to it now."

Cynthia liked the gentleman's looks, and rightly surmised that he was one
of the big men of the nation. She was about to ask Jethro his name when
Ephraim came limping along and put the matter out of her mind, and the
three went into the almost empty dining room. There they were served with
elaborate attention by a darky waiter who had, in some mysterious way,
learned Jethro's name and title. Cynthia reflected with pride that
Jethro, too, was one of the nation's great men, who could get anything he
wanted simply by coming to the capital and asking for it.

Ephraim was very much excited on finding himself in Washington, the sight
of the place reviving in his mind a score of forgotten incidents of the
war. After supper they found seats in a corner of the corridor, where a
number of people were scattered about, smoking and talking. It did not
occur to Jethro or Cynthia, or even to Ephraim, that these people were
all of the male sex, and on the other hand the guests of the hotel were
apparently used once in a while to see a lady from the country seated
there. At any rate, Cynthia was but a young girl, and her two companions,
however unusual their appearance, were clearly most respectable. Jethro,
his hands in his pockets and his hat tilted, sat on the small of his back
rapt in meditation; Cynthia, her head awhirl, looked around her with
sparkling eyes; while Ephraim was smoking a cigar he had saved for just
such a festal occasion. He did not see the stout man with the button and
corded hat until he was almost on top of him.

"Eph Prescott, I believe!" exclaimed the stout one. "How be you,
Comrade?"

Heedless of his rheumatism, Ephraim sprang to his feet and dropped the
cigar, which the stout one picked up with much difficulty.

"Well," said Ephraim, in a voice that shook with unwonted emoti