ignificance was happening
within the green inclosure of the walls of the United States arsenal,
far to the southward.

The days had become alike in sadness to Stephen. Richter gone, and the
Judge often away in mysterious conference, he was left for hours at
a spell the sole tenant of the office. Fortunately there was work of
Richter's and of Mr. Whipple's left undone that kept him busy. This
Thursday morning, however, he found the Judge getting into that best
black coat which he wore on occasions. His manner had recently lost much
of its gruffness.

"Stephen," said he, "they are serving out cartridges and uniforms to the
regiments at the arsenal. Would you like to go down with me?"

"Does that mean Camp Jackson?" asked Stephen, when they had reached the
street.

"Captain Lyon is not the man to sit still and let the Governor take the
first trick, sir," said the Judge.

As they got on the Fifth Street car, Stephen's attention was at once
attracted to a gentleman who sat in a corner, with his children about
him. He was lean, and he had a face of great keenness and animation. He
had no sooner spied Judge Whipple than he beckoned to him with a kind of
military abruptness.

"That is Major William T. Sherman," said the Judge to Stephen. "He
used to be in the army, and fought in the Mexican War. He came here two
months ago to be the President of this Fifth Street car line."

They crossed over to him, the Judge introducing Stephen to Major
Sherman, who looked at him very hard, and then decided to bestow on him
a vigorous nod.

"Well, Whipple," he said, "this nation is going to the devil; eh?"

Stephen could not resist a smile. For it was a bold man who expressed
radical opinions (provided they were not Southern opinions) in a St.
Louis street car early in '61.

The Judge shook his head. "We may pull out," he said.

"Pull out!" exclaimed Mr. Sherman. "Who's man enough in Washington
to shake his fist in a rebel's face? Our leniency--our timidity--has
paralyzed us, sir."

By this time those in the car began to manifest considerable interest in
the conversation. Major Sherman paid them no attention, and the Judge,
once launched in an argument, forgot his surroundings.

"I have faith in Mr. Lincoln. He is calling out volunteers."

"Seventy-five thousand for three months!" said the Major, vehemently,
"a bucketful on a conflagration I tell you, Whipple, we'll need all the
water we've got in the North."

The Judge ex