Part 54 (1/2)
Stanton shook his leonine locks and beard in fury at the use of the facetious word. He loathed levity of any kind and the one kind he could not endure was the quip that came his way.
He regarded himself seriously every day, every hour, every minute in every hour. He was the incarnate soul of Mars on earth. He knew and felt it. He raged at the President's use of the term because he had a sneaking idea that he was being laughed at--and that by a man who was his inferior and yet to whom he was rendering indispensable service.
An angry retort rose to his lips, but he suppressed the impulse. It was a waste of breath. The President was a fool--he would only laugh again as he had done before. And so he plunged straight to the purpose of his call:
”Before you get to your usual batch of pa.s.ses and pardons this morning I want to protest again, Mr. President, against your persistent interference with the discipline of the army and the affairs of my Department. Your pardons are hamstringing the whole service, sir. It must stop if you expect your generals to control their men!”
”Is that all, Mars?” the even voice asked.
”It is, sir!”
”Thanks for the spirit that prompts your rage. I know you're right about most of these things. I'll do my best to help and not hinder you----”
”There's a woman coming here this morning to present a pet.i.tion over my head.”
”Oh, I see----”
”I have refused it and I demand that you support, not make a fool of me.”
He turned without waiting for an answer and strode from the room.
The President whispered to Nicolay:
”We may have to put a few bricks in Stanton's pocket yet, John!”
He glanced toward the waiting crowd and whispered again:
”Any news to-day from the front before I go on?”
Nicolay drew a telegram from his file:
”Only this dispatch, sir, announcing the capture of fifty mules and two brigadier generals by Stuart's cavalry----”
”Fifty mules?”
”And two brigadier generals.”
”Fifty mules--and they're worth two hundred dollars a piece. Tell 'em to send a regiment after those mules. Jeffy D. can have the generals.”
A slender little dark-haired girl about fifteen years old, with big wistful blue eyes, had taken advantage of the pause to slip close. When the President lifted his head she caught his eyes. He rose immediately and drew her to his side.
”You're all alone, little girl?”
”Yes, sir,” she faltered.
”And what can I do for you?”
”If you please, I want to pa.s.s through the lines to Virginia--my brother's there--he was shot in the last battle. I want to see him.”
”Of course you do,” the kindly voice agreed, ”and you shall.”