LONESOME HILL
to summon more than a whisper from his shrunken throat.
"Yes, Mr. President, I do—he's my boy!"
"Your—boy! Yes—that's the name—how stupid of me—I beg your pardon, Mr. Dale—a thousand times."
They stared a long while at each other and Dale felt the fears which had fled before his gracious reception returning to grip him by the heart; the speech he had prepared had fled; it had all happened so differently.
At last the President spoke: "Congress is just going out; it's the busy season, but I'll go through the papers to-night myself."
Dale walked to the window; perspiration was on his face, but he was very cold. He stood with locked
[31]
