"The Dictatorship. That's the talk in the inner circles. Nobody in the North expects war or wants war——"
"Except my father," Betty laughed.
"The Abolitionists don't count. If we have war there are not enough of them to form a corporal's guard—to say nothing of an army. The North is hopelessly divided and confused. If the South unites—if North Carolina, Virginia, Tennessee, Kentucky, Arkansas, Missouri and Maryland join the Confederacy under Davis, the Union is lost. What's going to hinder them from uniting? They are all Slave States. They believe the new President is a Black Abolitionist Republican. He isn't, of course, but they believe it. How can he reassure them? The States that have already plunged into Secession have hauled the flag down from every fort and arsenal except Sumter and Pickens. The new President can only retake these forts by force. The first shot fired will sweep every Slave State out of the Union and arraign the millions of Democratic voters in the North solidly against the Government. God pity the man who takes the oath to-day to preserve, protect and defend the Constitution!"
When John Vaughan's voice died away at last into a passionate whisper, Betty stood looking at him in a spell. She recovered herself with a start and a smile.
"You've mistaken your calling, Mr. Vaughan," she said with emotion.
"Why do you say that?"
"You're a statesman—not an editor—you should be in the Cabinet."
"Much obliged, Miss Betty—but I'm not in this one, thank you. Besides, you're mistaken. I'm only an intelligent observer and reporter of events. I've never had the will to do creative things."
"Why?"
"The responsibility is too great. Fools rush in where angels fear to tread. Only God Almighty can save this Nation to-day. It's too much to expect of one man."