"I think you are mistaken," said Webster, coolly. "I am sure there are thousands of them there."
This answer seemed to infuriate the man, and striding up to Webster, he asked, with an air of impertinence:
"Are you a Southern man?"
"No, sir, I was born in New York," was the reply.
"What is your name?" impudently demanded the fellow.
"You will find my name upon the register of the hotel, if you desire it, and as I do not wish to have any further controversy with you, I bid you good morning," replied Webster, still remaining cool and unruffled.
By this time a crowd of about twenty men had gathered about them, and as Webster turned to leave the room, one of them demanded to know the contents of the telegram he had just received.
This demand, added to the previous suggestion that Webster was a Southern man, was sufficient to excite the entire crowd, who had been living upon excitement for more than a week, and they began to press around him in a threatening manner, one of them calling out:
"I believe he is a d—d spy; let us see what he has got!"
Webster broke loose from those nearest to him, and retreating backwards toward the door, exclaimed, in a determined voice: