On the 2d of July, they arrived at Washington, and Tom had an opportunity to see the “city of magnificent distances,” of which he had heard so much.  The regiment marched from the station, through Pennsylvania Avenue, to their camp ground in the rear of the White House.  They were received with enthusiasm by the people, but the miserable uniforms with which they had been supplied, now faded and dilapidated, with the finishing touch of destruction given to them by the perilous journey they had made, gave the politicians their first lesson on the worthlessness of “shoddy.”

The regiment entered the grounds of the White House, and as it passed up the avenue, President Lincoln appeared in front of his mansion.  The boys greeted him with a volley of stunning cheers, which the President acknowledged by a series of bows, which were not half so ungraceful as one might have expected after reading the descriptions of him contained in the newspapers.

To Tom Somers the President was a great institution, and he could scarcely believe that he was looking upon the chief magistrate of this great nation.  He was filled with boyish wonder and astonishment; but, after all, he was forced to admit that the President, though a tall specimen of humanity, looked very much like the rest of mankind—­to borrow a phrase from one of his illustrious predecessors.

Tom was too tired to wonder long at the grandeur of the Capitol, and the simple magnificence of the President.  The tents were pitched, and the weary men were allowed a season of rest.  In a couple of days, however, our soldier boy was “as good as new.”

“Come, Tom, it is about time for you too see something of the city,” said Ben Lethbridge, one afternoon, after the regiment had become fairly settled in its new quarters.

“I should like to take a tramp.  There are lots of congressmen here, and I should like to know what they look like,” replied Tom.  “I haven’t been outside the lines since we came here.”

“I have; and I’m going again!  Fred and I mean to have a good time to-day.  Will you go?”

“Have you got a pass?”

“A pass!  What a stupid!  What do you want of a pass?  You can’t get one.  They won’t give any.”

“Then we can’t go, of course.”

“Bah!  What a great calf you are!  Don’t you want to cry again?”

“Ben, you needn’t say cry to me again as long as you live,” added Tom.  “If you do, I’ll give you something to cry for.”

Tom did not like the style of remark which the other had adopted.  He was angry, and, as he spoke, his fist involuntarily clinched, and his eye looked fierce and determined.

“Come, come, Tom; don’t bristle up so.  If you are a man, just show that you are, and come along with us.”

“I say, Ben, I want to know who’s a baby or a calf, you or I, before we go, I won’t stand any more of your lip.”

“Will you go with us?” demanded Ben, who was rather disposed to dodge the issue.