"I have no time for hobbies," he exclaimed, half petulantly. "What I must do is this work. The man we are to meet to-night is Mr. Polk. It is important."
"You would not call Mr. Polk important?" I smiled frankly, and Calhoun replied in icy kind.
"You can not tell how large a trouble may be started by a small politician," said he. "At least, we will hear what he has to say. 'Twas he that sought the meeting, not myself."
Perhaps half an hour later, Mr. Calhoun's old negro man ushered in this awaited guest, and we three found ourselves alone in one of those midnight conclaves which went on in Washington even then as they do to-day. Mr. Polk was serious as usual; his indecisive features wearing the mask of solemnity, which with so many passed as wisdom.
"I have come, Mr. Calhoun," said he—when the latter had assured him that my presence would entail no risk to him—"to talk over this Texas situation."
"Very well," said my chief. "My own intentions regarding Texas are now of record."
"Precisely," said Mr. Polk. "Now, is it wise to make a definite answer in that matter yet? Would it not be better to defer action until later—until after, I may say—"
"Until after you know what your own chances will be, Jim?" asked Mr. Calhoun, smiling grimly.
"Why, that is it, John, precisely, that is it exactly! Now, I don't know what you think of my chances in the convention, but I may say that a very large branch of the western Democracy is favoring me for the nomination." Mr. Polk pursed a short upper lip and looked monstrous grave. His extreme morality and his extreme dignity made his chief stock in trade. Different from his master, Old Hickory, he was really at heart the most aristocratic of Democrats, and like many another so-called leader, most of his love for the people really was love of himself.
"Yes, I know that some very strange things happen in politics," commented Calhoun, smiling.