with roses strewn nervously in bunches. The chieftain had seen it
all before--scores of times. He could have pictured it exactly in
advance, from the Blue-and-Gray speech down to the smallest rosebud.
Yet his kindly smile of interest greeted Elmville's display as if it
had been the only and original.

In the upper rotunda of the Palace Hotel the town's most
illustrious were assembled for the honour of being presented to the
distinguished guests previous to the expected address. Outside,
Elmville's inglorious but patriotic masses filled the streets.

Here, in the hotel General Deffenbaugh was holding in reserve
Elmville's trump card. Elmville knew; for the trump was a fixed one,
and its lead consecrated by archaic custom.

At the proper moment Governor Pemberton, beautifully venerable,
magnificently antique, tall, paramount, stepped forward upon the arm
of the General.

Elmville watched and harked with bated breath. Never until now--when
a Northern President of the United States should clasp hands with
ex-war-Governor Pemberton would the breach be entirely closed--would
the country be made one and indivisible--no North, not much South,
very little East, and no West to speak of. So Elmville excitedly
scraped kalsomine from the walls of the Palace Hotel with its Sunday
best, and waited for the Voice to speak.

And Billy! We had nearly forgotten Billy. He was cast for Son, and
he waited patiently for his cue. He carried his "plug" in his hand,
and felt serene. He admired his father's striking air and pose.