over your future office will read,
'Thomas Langdon, wholesale dealer in words. Any amount of any quality
supplied on demand.'"

"Not a bad idea," said Langdon. "You mean that as satire, but I'll
do it. It's no small accomplishment to be a good dictionary. But my
thoughts turn back to war. You think I never look beyond today, but I
believe the North will come up against us. And you'll have to go into
it with all your might, Harry. You are of fighting stock. Your father
was in the thick of it in Mexico. Remember the lines:

"We were not many, we who stood
Before the iron sleet that day;
Yet many a gallant spirit would
Give half his years if he but could
Have been with us at Monterey."

"I remember them," said Harry, much stirred. "I have heard my father
quote them. He was at Monterey and he says that the Mexicans fought
well. I was at Frankfort, the capital of our state, myself with him,
when they unveiled the monument to our Kentucky dead and I heard them
read O'Hara's poem which he wrote for that day. I tell you, Langdon,
it makes my blood jump every time I hear it."

He recited in a sort of low chant:

"The neighing troop, the flashing blade,
The bugle's stirring blast,
The charge, the dreadful cannonade,
The din and shout are past.

"Nor war's wild note, nor glory's peal
Shall fill with fierce delight
Those breasts that never more may feel
The rapture of the fight."

They were very young and, in some respects, it was a sentimental time,
much given to poetry. As the darkness closed in and the lights of the
little city could be seen no longer, their thoughts took a more solemn
turn. Perhaps it would be fairer to call them emotions or feelings
rather than thoughts. In the day all had been talk and lightness,
but in the night omens and presages came. Langdon was the first to
rouse himself. He could not be solemn longer than three minutes.

"It's certain that the President is coming tomorrow, Harry, isn't it?"
he asked.

"Beyond a doubt. He is so near now that they fix the exact hour,
and the Guards are among those to receive him."

"I wonder what he looks like. They say he is a very great man."

They were interrupted by St. Clair, who threw himself down on a blanket
beside them.

"That's the third cup of coffee you're taking, Tom,"