the books--possibly you may know about the case."

The old man struggled back in his chair, then arose, his rough hand
brushing thin locks back from a temple where the veins seemed swelling
to the danger point. He was unable to summon more than a whisper
from his shrunken throat.

"Yes, Mr. President, I do--he's my boy!"

"Your--boy! Yes--that's the name--how stupid of me--I beg
your pardon, Mr. Dale--a thousand times."

They stared a long while at each other and Dale felt the fears which
had fled before his gracious reception returning to grip him by the heart;
the speech he had prepared had fled; it had all happened so differently.

At last the President spoke: "Congress is just going out; it's the busy
season, but I'll go through the papers to-night myself."

Dale walked to the window; perspiration was on his face, but he was
very cold. He stood with locked brain, and into his eyes came filmy
clouds; then through these he saw, with sudden strangeness, a cabin far
away, and a woman with pallid cheeks looked straight at him.

The President gazed intently as the old man wiped the window pane,
nodded his head, and turned to face the table.

He cleared his throat, then opened a flannel collar, already loose, and
his eyes glistened.