On Thursday she not only witnessed the last moments of the last session
of the Fifty-fourth Congress, but the initial ceremonies of the
inauguration of a President of the United States. She had seen the
galleries crowded before, but never as they were to-day. Even the
Diplomatists' Gallery, usually empty, was full of women and attaches,
and the very steps of the other galleries were set thick with people.
Thousands had stood patiently in the corridors since early morning, and
thousands stood there still, or wandered about looking at the statues
and painted walls. The Senators were all in their seats; most of them
would gladly have been in bed, for they had been up all night; and the
Ambassadors and Envoys were brilliant and glittering curves of colour:
the effect greatly enhanced by the Republican simplicity of the men to
whose country they were accredited. The Judges of the Supreme Court, in
their flowing silk gowns, alone reminded the spectator that the United
States had not sprung full-fledged from nothing, without traditions and
without precedent.
What little is left of form in the Republic was observed. Two Senators
and one Representative, the Committee appointed to call on the retiring
President, who had just signed his last bill in his room close by,
entered and announced that Mr. Cleveland had no further messages for
the Senate, and extended his congratulations to both Houses of Congress
upon the termination of their labours. The United States had been
without a ruler for twenty minutes when the assistant doorkeeper
announced the Vice-President, two pages drew back the doors, and Mr.
Hobart entered on the arm of a Senator and took the seat on the dais
beside his predecessor, who still occupied the chair of the presiding
officer of the Senate. Then there was another long wait, during which
the people in the galleries gossiped loudly and the Senators yawned.
Finally the President elect and the ex-President, after being formally
announced, entered arm in arm. Both looked very Republican indeed,
especially poor Mr. Cleveland, who toiled along with the gout, leaning
what he could of his massive figure upon an umbrella. The women stood
up, and with one accord pronounced their President-elect as
good-looking as he undoubtedly was strong and amiable and firm and calm
and pious. Mr. Hobart took the oath of office, and after the necessary
speeches and the proclamation for an Extra Session, the new Senators
were sworn in by the new Vice-President, and Betty wondered how any man
would dare to break so solemn an oath.
As soon as the move began toward the platform outside, Betty escaped
through the crowd and went home. As she drove down the Avenue, she
heard the stupendous shout of joy, some fifty thousand strong, with
which the American public ever greets its new President and the
consequent show. Be he Republican or Democrat, it is all one for the
day; he is an excuse to gather, to yell, and to gaze.
Betty turned her head and caught a glimpse of a bareheaded man on his
feet, bowing and bowing and bowing, and of a heavy figure with its hat
on seated beside him. She speculated upon the sardonic reflections
active inside of that hat.
She did not expect to see Senator North for at least twenty-four hours,
but his card was brought to her while she was still at luncheon. She
went rapidly to her boudoir, and found him standing with his overcoat
on and his hat in his hand.
Although he had been up all the night before and had not had his full
measure of rest for a week, he looked as calm as usual, and there was
not a hint of fatigue in his face nor of disorder in his dress.
"You deserted us last night," he said, smiling. "I thought perhaps you
would sit up and see us through."
"I was up there at nine this morning and saw the Senate floor littered
with papers. It had a very allnight look. Have you had luncheon? Won't
you come in?"
"I should be glad to, but I haven't time. I find I must go North
to-night, and am on my way home to get a few hours' rest. I wanted to
thank you for many pleasant hours--in this room." His eyes moved about
slowly and softened somewhat. It is not improbable that he would have
liked to throw himself among the cushions of the divan and go to sleep.
"Well! You might postpone that until we part for life," said Betty,
lightly. "You forget that Congress will convene in Extra Session on the
fifteenth."
"Yes, but there is no necessity for me to be here until some time in
May at earliest. The principal object of the Session is the revision of
the Tariff, and the new bill originates with the Ways and Means
Committee. After it has been thrashed out in the House and returned to
the Committee for amendments, it will be referred to the Finance
Committee of the Senate. All that takes time. I am not a member of the
Finance Committee this term, and I shall not return until the debate
opens in the Senate. As to the Arbitration business, Ward will look
after that. I would not stir if there were a chance of the Treaty
coming back to the Senate in its original form, but there is not. When
Ward telegraphs me I shall come down and cast my vote."
His long speech had given Betty time to recover from his first
announcement, and her eyes were full of the frank earnestness which had
established the desired relation between herself and Senator North.
"I am glad you are going to have a rest," she said; "that is, if you
are."
"Oh, it is work that sits very lightly on me, and is very congenial: I
am going to do all I can to allay this war fever in my own State. It is
not too late to appeal to their reason; but it might be at any moment."
"Well, at all events, you go to the bracing climate of the North. But I
am sorry you go so soon. Mother cannot stay in Washington after the
third week in May. I am afraid we shall not meet again until you come
to the Adirondacks."
"Ah, the Adirondacks!" he said. "Yes, I shall see you there. Good-bye."
He did not smile. There were times when he seemed to turn a key and
lock up his features. This was one of them. Betty felt as if she were
looking at a mask contrived with unusual skill.
He shook her warmly by the hand, however. "I forgot to say that I shall
be in Washington off and on--for a day or so. My wife remains here. It
is still too cold for her in the North. Good-bye again."
He left her, and she did not return to her luncheon.