It was Benito's turn to redden. "Better let the boy have his way," he said hastily. "Journalism's quite an education in itself."
"So, you're against me, too! Well, well. I'll see about it."
They shook hands good-humoredly, the boy beaming. Afterward news reached Benito that young Stanley was a member of McDonald's staff.
In 1865 there came the joyous news of victory and peace. The Democratic Press accepted Lee's surrender sullenly, printing now and then a covert sneer at Grant or Lincoln. Enmity died hard in Southern breasts.
One morning as he came to town Benito saw a crowd of angry and excited men running down Montgomery street. Some of them brandished canes. "Down with Copperheads," they were shouting. Presently he heard a crash of glass, a cry of protest. Then a door gave with a splintering sound. The crowd rushed through, into the offices and print rooms of the Democratic Press.
There was more noise of wreckage and destruction. Broken chairs, tables, typecases, bits of machinery hurtled into the street. Benito grasped the arm of a man who was hurrying by. "What's wrong?" he asked.
The other turned a flushed and angry mien toward him. "God Almighty! Haven't you heard? President Lincoln was shot last night ... by a brother of Ed Booth, the actor.... They say he's dying." He picked up a stone and hurled it at an upper window of the Press.
"We'll show these traitor-dogs a thing or two," he called. "Come on, boys, let's wreck the place!"