“Well, I can take your message,” said the clerk, doggedly, “but I tell you now it won’t do you any good.  He won’t see any one.”

But, in a few moments an inner door opened, and the young man came out followed by the desired one.  Mr. Johnson couldn’t resist the temptation to let his eyes rest on the underling in a momentary glance of triumph as Congressman Barker hurried up to him, saying:  “Why, why, Cornelius, how’do? how’do?  Ah, you came about that little matter, didn’t you?  Well, well, I haven’t forgotten you; I haven’t forgotten you.”

The colored man opened his mouth to speak, but the other checked him and went on:  “I’m sorry, but I’m in a great hurry now.  I’m compelled to leave town to-day, much against my will, but I shall be back in a week; come around and see me then.  Always glad to see you, you know.  Sorry I’m so busy now; good-morning, good-morning.”

Mr. Johnson allowed himself to be guided politely, but decidedly, to the door.  The triumph died out of his face as the reluctant good-morning fell from his lips.  As he walked away, he tried to look upon the matter philosophically.  He tried to reason with himself—­to prove to his own consciousness that the Congressman was very busy and could not give the time that morning.  He wanted to make himself believe that he had not been slighted or treated with scant ceremony.  But, try as he would, he continued to feel an obstinate, nasty sting that would not let him rest, nor forget his reception.  His pride was hurt.  The thought came to him to go at once to the President, but he had experience enough to know that such a visit would be vain until he had seen the dispenser of patronage for his district.  Thus, there was nothing for him to do but to wait the necessary week.  A whole week!  His brow knitted as he thought of it.

In the course of these cogitations, his walk brought him to his hotel, where he found his friends of the night before awaiting him.  He tried to put on a cheerful face.  But his disappointment and humiliation showed through his smile, as the hollows and bones through the skin of a cadaver.

“Well, what luck?” asked Col.  Mason, cheerfully.

“Are we to congratulate you?” put in Mr. Perry.

“Not yet, not yet, gentlemen.  I have not seen the President yet.  The fact is—­ahem—­my Congressman is out of town.”

He was not used to evasions of this kind, and he stammered slightly and his yellow face turned brick-red with shame.

“It is most annoying,” he went on, “most annoying.  Mr. Barker won’t be back for a week, and I don’t want to call on the President until I have had a talk with him.”

“Certainly not,” said Col.  Mason, blandly.  “There will be delays.”  This was not his first pilgrimage to Mecca.

Mr. Johnson looked at him gratefully.  “Oh, yes; of course, delays,” he assented; “most natural.  Have something.”