“How much?” said Roxie, preparing to leave the office.
“I m always liberal, madam, always liberal. Let me see; it is attended with some difficulty; can't leave the city; too much business pressing (rubbing his hands); well—well—I will pick up the crumbs for half. Think I can secure two or three hundred bales of cotton, madam,” said the Governor, confidentially.
“How much is a bale of cotton worth?” said Roxie, affecting ignorance.
“Only four hundred dollars, madam; nothing but a crumb—nothing but a crumb, madam,” said the Governor, in a tone of flattery.
“Do the best you can,” said Roxie, in a confidential tone, as she left the office.
Governor Morock was enjoying the reputation of the fashionable lawyer among the upper-ten in Chicago. Roxie Daymon's good sense condemned him, but she did not feel at liberty to break the line of association.
Cliff Carlo did nothing but write a letter of inquiry to Governor Morock, who informed him that the Simon estate was worth more than a million and a quarter, and that m-o-n-e-y would break the will.
The second year of the war burst the bubble of peace in Kentucky. The State was invaded on both sides. The clang of arms on the soil where the heroes of a preceding generation slept, called the martial spirits in the shades of Kentucky to rise and shake off the delusion that peace and plenty breed cowards. Cliff Carlo, and many others of the brave sons of Kentucky, united with the southern armies, and fully redeemed their war like character, as worthy descendents of the heroes of the dark and bloody ground.
Cliff Carlo passed through the struggles of the war without a sick day or the pain of a wound. We must, therefore, follow the fate of the less fortunate Cæsar Simon.
During the winter of the first year of the war, Price's army camped on the southern border of Missouri.