He didn't like the blunt, brutal
way this Southern Democrat talked. He couldn't believe in his honesty.
Beneath those bushy eyebrows burned a wolf's hunger for office and
power. On the surface he was loyal to the Union. He wondered if he were
not in reality playing a desperate waiting game, ready at the moment of
the crisis to throw his information to either side? The air of
Washington reeked with suspicion and double dealing.
"Oh, my Country," he murmured bitterly, "if ever true men were needed!"
He strolled through the street on which Senator Davis and Barton lived
directly opposite each other. He would call on Jennie and express his
regret that their party had been postponed. At the door he changed his
mind. Too much attention at this stage of the game would not be wise. He
passed on, glancing at the distinguished-looking group of men who were
emerging from the Davis door.
He wondered what was going on in that home? It seemed impossible that
Davis should be the leader of a Southern rebellion. Clay or Toombs,
yes--but this man with his blood-marked history of devotion to the
Union--this man with his proud record of constructive statesmanship as
Senator and Secretary of War--it seemed preposterous!
Could he have heard the counsel Davis was giving at that moment to the
excited men who made his unpretentious house their Mecca, he would have
been still more astonished.
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