The young Secretary, in rising wrath, looked again and again at the clock.
"Don't be so impatient, John," the quiet, even voice said. "Great bodies move slowly, they say—come here and sit down—I'll tell you a secret. The Cabinet knows it—and you can, too."
He leaned his giant figure forward in his chair and touched an official document which he had drawn from his pocket.
"Great events hang on this battle. I've written out here a challenge to mortal combat for all our foes, North, South, East and West. I'm going to free the slaves if we win this battle and we're sure to win it——"
Hay glanced at the door with a startled look.
"McClellan and I don't agree on this subject and he mightn't fight as well if he knew it. It's a thing of doubtful wisdom at its best to hurl this challenge into the face of my foe. But the time has come and it must be done. We have made no headway in this war, and we must crush the South to end it. If the Copperhead leaders should get control of the Democratic party because of it—well, it means trouble at home. Douglas is dead and the jackal is trying to wear the lion's skin. He may succeed, but then I must risk it. I'll lose some good soldiers from the army but I've got to do it. All I'm waiting for now is a victory on which to launch my thunderbolt——"
A key clicked in the front door and the quick, firm step of McClellan echoed through the hall.
The orderly was reporting his distinguished visitor. They could hear his low words, and the sharp answer.
The General mounted the stairs and entered the front room overhead. He was there, of course, to arrange his toilet. He was a stickler for handsome clothes, spotless linen and the last detail of ceremony.
Again the minutes dragged. The tick of the clock on the mantel rang through the silent room and the face of the younger man grew red with rage.