The Angel of Lonesome Hill | Page 5

the homespun citizen of an older day,

and a great happiness came into his heart--it was like the unfolding of
one of the roses. Not that he was to lunch with the President, though
Dale's was the village estimate of human greatness. A vaster issue was
before him, and this was a token of success--a success which would
bind up his remaining years with peace, and give glorious recompense
to the companion of his few joys and many griefs.
The President hurriedly signed his name to parchments.
"I'm making a few postmasters." He smiled toward the sofa. "It's no
trouble here--that's all at the other end of the line."
Without stopping the pen, he discussed matters with one statesman
after another, his lips snapping with metallic positiveness.
A member of the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations protested
against the course pursued in Santo Domingo.
"If I were making a world, Senator, I'd try to get along without putting
in any Santo Domingos, but as things stand, we must make her be
decent or let somebody else do it."
Another brings up the question of taxing incomes and inheritances.
"I favor them both," declared the President. "They are taxes on good
luck; bad luck is its own tax."
A statesman from the Pacific slope protests against Federal interference
in the school question.
"It is a local matter as you say, Senator, and yours is a 'Sovereign
State'--they all are till they get into trouble. If we should have war with
Japan, your State would speedily become an integral part of the
Union."
A group of gentlemen now object to an aspirant for a Federal judgeship
on the ground that he has not a "judicial temperament."
"As I understand it," the President begins, "judicial temperament is
largely a fragrance rising from the recollection of corporate
employment; it is the ability to throw a comma under the wheels of
progress and upset public welfare; I am glad to learn that Mr. L---- has
not a 'judicial temperament'; I shall send his name to the Senate
to-day."
The gentlemen retired. "Come, Mr. Dale, let us go."
This President had been accused of a lack of dignity. Is it a less
valuable trait which puts the John Dales of our land at instant ease in
the "State Dining-Room" of the White House?

"Well, sir, no man ever had a better friend than Judge Long," said the
President when they were seated. "'Ves' Long, I mean," he added with a
smile.
"I met him in the West; he had a ranch; mine was near it. We saw much
of each other; we hunted together--and that's where you learn a man's
mettle. He never complained of dogs, luck, or weather. We saw rough
times; it was glorious. We'd wake up with snow on the bed, and when
'Ves' introduced me at Point Elizabeth in my first campaign he said we
often found rabbit tracks on the quilts--but then 'Ves' had a remarkable
eye.
"Some say, 'blood is thicker than water.' That depends somewhat on the
quality of the water; I like him; there's nothing I wouldn't do for him!"
Dale grew suddenly sick at heart. If Long had only come! Recalling his
discouraging words, a shadow crept over the old man's mind. Could it
be possible he had not tried the month before?
Such misgivings soon vanished. "This is a trying office, Mr. Dale. With
all my feelings I had to hold in abeyance the only favor he ever asked;
it was about a pardon in a murder case over thirty-five years ago. He
said it was the most cruel case of circumstantial evidence in 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