"It's weird," Betty whispered. "You can feel their very hearts beat. Do you suppose the new President realizes the meaning of such a moment?"
"I don't think this one will. I interviewed Stanton, the retiring Attorney General of Buchanan's Cabinet, yesterday. He knows Lincoln personally--was with him in a lawsuit once before the United States Court. Stanton says he's a coward and a fool and the ugliest white man who ever appeared on this planet. He has already christened him 'The Original Gorilla,' or 'The Illinois Ape'----"
"I wonder," Betty broke in with petulance, "if such a man could be elected President? I'm morbidly curious to see him. My father, as an Abolitionist, had to vote for him and he must support his administration as a Republican Senator. But his favorite name for the new Chief Magistrate is, 'The Illinois Slave Hound.' I've a growing feeling that his enemies have overdone their work. I'm going to judge him fairly."
"They say he's a good stump speaker--a little shy on grammar, perhaps, but good on jokes--of the coarser kind. He ought to get one or two good guffaws even out of this sober crowd to-day."
"Is that your brother?" Betty asked with a quick intake of breath, lifting her head toward a stalwart figure rapidly coming down the wide marble steps.
"You're as much alike as two black-eyed peas--except that you're more slender and boyish."
A low mischievous laugh was her answer as John lifted his hat and stood smiling before them.
"Miss Winter, this is my brother, whose praises I've long been chanting. I've a little work to do in the crowd--I'll be back in a few minutes."
There was just a touch of irony in the smile with which the younger man spoke as he hurried away, but the girl was too much absorbed in the striking picture John Vaughan made to notice. The sparkling brown eyes took him in from head to foot in a quick comprehending flash. The fame of his personal appearance was more than justified. He was the most strikingly good-looking man she had ever seen, and to her surprise there was not the slightest trace of self-consciousness or conceit about him. His high intellectual forehead, thick black hair inclined to curl at the ends and straight heavy eyebrows suggested at once a man of brains and power. He looked older than he was--at least thirty, though he had just turned twenty-six. The square strong jaw and large chin were eloquent of reserve force. Two rows of white, perfect teeth smiled behind the black drooping moustache and invited friendship. The one disquieting feature about him was the look from the depths of his dark brown eyes--so dark they were black in shadow. He had been a dreamer when very young and followed Charles A. Dana to Brook Farm for a brief stay.