“I don’t know, Mr. Duncan,” answered Cynthia.

“Did Worthy know you were here?” demanded Mr. Duncan, suspiciously.

“He did when he saw me,” said Cynthia, smiling.

“Not till then?” asked Mr. Duncan.  “Say, Worthy; your father wants to see you right away.  I’m going to be in Washington a day or two—­will you go walking with me to-morrow morning, Miss Wetherell?”

“She’s going walking with me,” said Bob, not in the best of tempers.

“Then I’ll go along,” said Mr. Duncan, promptly.

By this time Cynthia got up and was holding out her hand to Bob Worthington.  “I’m not going walking with either of you,” she said “I have another engagement.  And I think I’ll have to say good night, because I’m very tired.”

“When can I see you?” Both the young men asked the question at once.

“Oh, you’ll have plenty of chances,” she answered, and was gone.

The young men looked at each other somewhat blankly; and then down at Jethro, who did not seem to know that they were there, and then they made their way toward the desk.  But Isaac D. Worthington and his friends had disappeared.

A few minutes later the distinguished-looking senator with whom Jethro had been in conversation before supper entered the hotel.  He seemed preoccupied, and heedless of the salutations he received; but when he caught sight of Jethro he crossed the corridor rapidly and sat down beside him.  Jethro did not move.  The corridor was deserted now, save for the two.

“Bass,” began the senator, “what’s the row up in your state?”

“H-haven’t heard of any row,” said Jethro.

“What did you come to Washington for?” demanded the senator, somewhat sharply.

“Er—­vacation,” said Jethro, “vacation—­to show my gal, Cynthy, the capital.”

“Now see here, Bass,” said the senator, “I don’t forget what happened in ’70.  I don’t object to wading through a swarm of bees to get a little honey for a friend, but I think I’m entitled to know why he wants it.”

“G-got the honey?” asked Jethro.

The senator took off his hat and wiped his brow, and then he stole a look at Jethro, with apparently barren results.

“Jethro,” he said, “people say you run that state of yours right up to the handle.  What’s all this trouble about a two-for-a-cent postmastership?”

“H-haven’t heard of any trouble,” said Jethro.

“Well, there is trouble,” said the senator, losing patience at last.  “When I told Grant you were here and mentioned that little Brampton matter to him,—­it didn’t seem much to me,—­the bees began to fly pretty thick, I can tell you.  I saw right away that somebody had been stirring ’em up.  It looks to me, Jethro,” said the senator gravely, “it looks to me as if you had something of a rebellion on your hands.”

“W-what’d Grant say?” Jethro inquired.