Austen did not admit the self-sacrifice as he shook Tom's hand; but remembered, singularly enough, the closing sentences of Tom's letter—which had nothing whatever to do with the Gaylord bill.
At this moment a commotion arose within the room, and a high, tremulous, but singularly fierce and compelling voice was heard crying out:—“Get out! Get out, d——n you, all of you, and don't come back until you've got some notion of what you're a-goin' to do. Get out, I say!”
These last words were pronounced with such extraordinary vigour that four gentlemen seemed to be physically impelled from the room. Three of them Austen recognized as dismissed and disgruntled soldiers from the lobby army of the Northeastern; the fourth was the Honourable Galusha Hammer, whose mode of progress might be described as “stalking,” and whose lips were forming the word “intolerable.” In the corner old Tom himself could be seen, a wizened figure of wrath.
“Who's that?” he demanded of his son, “another d-d fool?”
“No,” replied young Tom, “it's Austen Vane.”
“What's he doin' here?” old Tom demanded, with a profane qualification as to the region. But young Tom seemed to be the only being capable of serenity amongst the flames that played around him.
“I sent for him because he's got more sense than Galusha and all the rest of 'em put together,” he said.
“I guess that's so,” old Tom agreed unexpectedly, “but it ain't sayin' much. Bring him in—bring him in, and lock the door.”
In obedience to these summons, and a pull from young Tom, Austen entered and sat down.
“You've read the Pingsquit bill?” old Tom demanded.