The Republicans applauded. The custom of the time required that the man voted for should thank the man who voted, and that aloud and aptly, with no slurring acknowledgment of service. Lewis Rand, a born speaker and familiar with his audience, was at no loss. "I thank you, Mr. Fagg! May your shadow never grow less! The old county—Mr. Jefferson's county, gentlemen—may be trusted to hold its own, in Richmond or in Washington, in Heaven or in Hell! Mr. Fagg, I will drink your health in punch of the Eagle's brewing! Your very obliged friend and servant!"
From street and yard without came a noise of cheering, with cries of "Black Cockade! Black Cockade! The party of Washington—Washington forever!—The old county for Cary!—Albemarle for Cary!—The county for a gentleman!"
"Mr. Ludwell Cary has arrived," announced the sheriff.
"Here comes the gentleman!" cried a man from a windowsill. "Stand up, Lewis Rand, and show him a man!"
The throng at the door parted, and with a Federalist and distinguished following the two Carys entered, the elder quiet and smiling, the younger flushed, bright-eyed, and anxious. The attachment between these two brothers was very strong; it was to be seen in every glance that passed between them, in every tone of voice used by each to the other. The elder played fond Mentor, and the younger thought his brother a demi-god. They were men of an old name, an old place, an inherited charm. "Ludwell Cary!" cried a mail. "Long live Ludwell Cary!"
Rand left the Justice's Bench, stepped forward, and greeted his opponent. The two touched hands. "I trust I see you in health, Mr. Cary?"
"Mr. Rand, I thank you, I am very well. You are early in the lists!"
"I am accustomed to early rising," answered Rand. "This morning I have ridden from the Wolf Trap. Will you sit?"
"Ah," said Cary, "I rode from Fontenoy. After you, sir!"
They sat down, side by side, upon the Justice's Bench, the Federalist very easy, the Republican, lacking the perfection of the other's manner, with a stiffness and constraint of which he was aware and which he hated in himself. He knew himself well enough to know that presently, in the excitement of the race, the ugly mantle would slip from the braced athlete, but at the moment he felt his disadvantage. Subtly and slowly, released from some deep, central tarn of his most secret self, a vapour of distaste and dislike began to darken the cells of clear thought. As a boy he had admired and envied Ludwell Cary; for his political antagonist, pure and simple, he had, unlike most around him, often the friendliest feeling; but now, sitting there on the Justice's Bench, he wondered if he were going to hate Cary. Suddenly an image came out of the vapour. "How long has he been at Fontenoy? Does he think he can win there, too?"