There we also will leave them.
Visitors to the inauguration were arriving by every train.
Among the arrivals from the East came Aaron Rockharrt, with his wife, his two sons, Fabian and Clarence, and his grandson, Sylvan, the younger brother of Cora.
The main door of the mansion was open, and several gentlemen, wearing official badges, stood without or just within it.
"By Jove! we are just in time, and it has been a close shave! That is the committee come to take him to the State house!" exclaimed old Aaron Rockharrt as he stepped out of the carriage, and helped his feeble little wife to alight. He led her up the steps, followed by the other three men of his party.
"Good morning, Judge Abbot. We are just in time, I find. We came up by the night train, and a close shave it has been. Well, a miss is as good as a mile, and we are safe to see the whole of the pageant," said the old man, speaking to a tall, thin, gray-haired gentleman, who wore a rosette on the lapel of his coat.
"Yes, sir; but here is a very strange difficulty—very strange, indeed," replied the official, with a deeply troubled and perplexed air, which was shared by all the gentlemen who stood with him.
"What's the trouble, gentlemen? Is the chief justice ill, that his honor cannot administer the oath, or what?"
"It is much worse than that—if anything could be worse," gravely replied one of the committee.
"What is it then? A contested election at this late hour?"