Again the girl sighed. “You too,” she said, “take refuge in the cant of the age. Yes, the people do try to elect public servants; but by some strange anomaly the servant becomes master the moment he enters the door of office. His thought then centers upon himself. And then they, and you, sit helplessly back and cry, No use! And if the people rise, their servants meet them with a hail of lead. It’s really childishly ridiculous, isn’t it? when you stop to consider it seriously.”
She leaned her elbows upon the desk, and sat with chin in her hands, looking squarely into the eyes of the President.
“So you, the head of this great nation, confess to utter helplessness,” she slowly said. “But you don’t have to.”
A servant entered at that moment with a card. The President glanced at it, and bade him request the caller to wait a few moments. Then, after some reflection:
“The people will always––”
The door through which the servant had passed was abruptly thrown open, and a harsh voice preceded the entrance of a huge bulk.
“I am not accustomed to being told to wait, Mr. President,” said the ungracious voice. “My appointment was for ten o’clock, and I am here to keep it.”
Then the newcomer stopped abruptly, and stared in amazement at the young girl, sitting with her elbows propped upon the desk, and her face close to that of the President.
The latter rose, flushed and angry. But Ames did not notice him. His attention was centered upon the girl who sat looking calmly up at him. A dark, menacing scowl drew his bushy eyebrows together, and made the sinister look which mantled his face one of ominous import to the person upon whom it fell.
Carmen was the first to break the tense silence. With a bright smile illuming her face she rose and held out a hand to the giant before her. “Good morning, Mr. Ames,” she said. “We meet pretty often, don’t we?”