turn to look at him. He had been told that he resembled the
early portraits of Henry Clay, and he had never quite forgotten the
coincidence.

The senator was wrapping the collar of his fur coat around his throat
and puffing contentedly at a fresh cigar, and as he passed, the night
watchman and the ushers bowed to the great man and stood looking after
him with the half-humorous, half-envious deference that the American
voter pays to the successful politician. At the sidewalk, the policemen
hurried to open the door of his carriage and in their eagerness made a
double line, through which he passed nodding to them gravely. The young
man who had stood so long in waiting pushed his way through the line to
his side.

"Senator Stanton," he began timidly, "might I speak to you a moment? My
name is Arkwright; I am just back from Cuba, and I want to thank you for
your speech. I am an American, and I thank God that I am since you are
too, sir. No one has said anything since the war began that compares
with what you said to-night. You put it nobly, and I know, for I've been
there for three years, only I can't make other people understand it, and
I am thankful that some one can. You'll forgive my stopping you, sir,
but I wanted to thank you. I feel it very much."

Senator Stanton's friends had already seated themselves in his carriage
and were looking out of the door and smiling with mock patience. But the
senator made no move to follow them. Though they were his admirers they
were sometimes skeptical, and he was not sorry that they should hear
this uninvited tribute. So he made a pretence of buttoning his long coat
about him, and nodded encouragingly to Arkwright to continue. "I'm glad
you liked it, sir," he said with the pleasant, gracious smile that
had won him a friend wherever it had won him a vote. "It is very
satisfactory to know from one who is well informed on the subject that
what I have said is correct. The situation there is truly terrible. You
have just returned, you say? Where were you--in Havana?"

"No, in the other provinces, sir," Arkwright answered. "I have been all
over the island, I am a civil engineer. The truth has not been half
told about Cuba, I assure you, sir. It is massacre there, not war. It is
partly so through ignorance, but nevertheless it is massacre. And what
makes it worse is, that it is the massacre of the innocents. That is
what I liked best of what you said in that great speech, the part about