o in for liberty, equality and brotherhood. But I don't take any
stock in their skeptical notions. I'd as soon eat poke-root and sleep
on pizen-vine as read Voltaire and Rousseau. Tom Payne is no better.
What's the latest news from Washington? Is Tom Jefferson going to make
war on Spain? It ain't war we want; it ain't more territory we want;
we need a closer union, and a strong tariff."

"You appear to be a politician, Mr. Pyle."

"Byle--B-y-l-e--Plutarch Byle, if you please. Yes, it's my notion
that every citizen ought to be a politician. I'm a John Jay
Federalist--a centralizer. Which side are you on?"

"I'm not concerned in politics at present. We are lawyers, not
politicians, Mr. Arlington and I."

"Arlington? That's not a bad name. Where do you hail from, Arlington?"

"From Richmond, Virginia," said the young man good humoredly. "This
gentleman is a citizen of New York."

"New York City? Porcupines and wildcats! You don't say! There's where
Alexander Hamilton lived--the greatest man that ever lived in these
United States, except Washington. I suppose there was a heap of
excitement in New York when Alexander Hamilton was killed--murdered,
I might say. Did you ever see Alexander Hamilton?"

Burr looked steadily into the eyes of the Great Inquisitive. "Yes," he
replied, "I was very well acquainted with Mr. Hamilton. He was a fine
man."

"You're right there, stranger! Give us your hand on that! I'm proud to
shake with a man who has seen Alexander Hamilton."

The enthusiastic Byle extended his prodigious palm and grasped the
delicate hand politely proffered him. Arlington looked on in
astonishment.

Burr, wincing at the vice-like grip of his new acquaintance, placidly
responded: "Yes, there are few men more worthy of esteem than was my
admirable friend Mr. Hamilton--whom I shot."

Byle was struck dumb. He could only open his cavernous mouth, and
gasp. His heavy hand relaxed its hold, and dropped as if paralyzed.
For a moment he stared at Arlington. Then he recovered his powers
sufficiently to articulate.

"You shot him? You--you aren't--?"

"Yes, I am Aaron Burr."

Plutarch Byle turned on his heel and with three strides carried his
leaning tower of a body to the edge of the deck. Scrambling
precipitately down the boat's side, he stumbled into his skiff, undid
the chain, grabbed his oars and fairly shot away, as if pursued by
flying pestilence. He directed his course northward and quickly ran
the bow o