up for it.  He was a handsome fellow, thoroughly confident of himself, and companionable.  He displayed, among other accomplishments, an acquaintance with the manners and customs of horses and dogs, and a facility in the management of boats, guns, and fishing tackle that made him an indisputable authority on all matters of the sort.  His stock of stories was immense, his wit always ready and very comical.  He could convulse a dinner-party when everything else failed, by making ridiculous faces.  Among ladies of all ages he was a sort of conquering hero.  He was consequently in general social demand as the life of the company.

Such was Mars Brown, whom Barwood, shortly after his return to Washington, began to regard with distrust and dislike, as a possible rival in the quarter where his affections were chiefly centred.

It might have been expected, from the general’s excessive preoccupation with lobbyists and politicians, that the business of the bureau should languish, and so it did.  The brunt of it was borne by a few clerks—­of whom Barwood was not one—­whose tenure of office depended upon efficient work rather than upon influential backing.  Government work must be performed by somebody, and it happens that, in spite of the great principle of rotation, the heads of men of undeniable usefulness rest firm upon their shoulders while hundreds are toppling all about them.

The bureau was not without spasmodic attempts at discipline.  The general spent an occasional forenoon in lying in wait for delinquents, whose shortcomings he made the text for some very forcible remarks.  The business of the office, he would state warmly, should be attended to, or he would make unpleasant theological arrangements for himself if he didn’t know the reason why.  With Brown he never went much further than to request, as a personal favor, that he would try to be on hand a little oftener and rather earlier, to which Brown always acceded quite cordially.

Admirable punctuality of attendance and of office hours was almost always observed for a couple of days after these formalities, and then things resumed the even tenor of their way.

Whatever might be the effect of this state of affairs upon the other employes of the office and upon the general public, it was certainly disastrous to the private interests of Henry Barwood.  Naturally of an unpractical, somewhat morbid disposition, he needed the stimulus of a business life in which the necessity for action and its results when performed were constantly apparent.  If engaged in his own ventures, taking risks and devising plans, he might have abandoned his speculations and fancies, and become a man of affairs.  As it was, he found too much opportunity for their indulgence.

Every day from nine to three he assorted, copied, and made abstracts of applications and reports, the objects of which were remote, their expediency questionable, and their ultimate fate problematical.  Without interest in the work and without any particular pressure for its performance, he dreamed over it, and often awoke from his reveries to find his figures inaccurate and his sentences meaningless.