suspiciously, and I believe were jealous of my wisdom. When, for the
third time, an usher took my card--or pretended to take my card--to the
President, his secretary came down to me. At first I told him that my
secret was for the President's ear alone; but at last I gave him a clew
to the nature of my business. He left me, but he did not return. Such is
reflected political power. But I thought of my power--aye, and physical
power, too--the only real power. I never blamed the President--I to this
day believe that that fellow H---- never told Lincoln of my visit to the
White House."

After an appreciative murmur and movement on the part of Bainbridge and
myself--for we felt like laughing, and yet sighs of wonderment were
expected by Castleton--and after a grunt from Arthur in his corner, I
asked, for want of something better to say,

"Were you ever in the army, doctor?"

"Well--ah--no--yes--no, sir; not exactly," Castleton replied. "But I had
a younger brother who beat the drum for a whole week in an
enlisting-office tent in Chicago. Poor boy! he died of brain fever in
1869--always a genius--great brain.--And this talk reminds me that I am
getting no pension from the United States Government on that poor,
neglected, sacrificed boy. Curse my thoughtlessness! Yes, and--but no: I
belong to the old school of patriots--I will not curse my country."

As Castleton uttered the last sentence, he approached the door of exit
to the hall. He had as usual been pacing the floor; and with the closing
word he shot into the hall and was gone. And as the sound of his
footsteps rang through the corridors of the hotel, Arthur remarked, from
his corner: