“Grant didn’t say anything about Worthington or Duncan, did he?” asked the senator, curiously, as he rose to go.

“G-guess I’ve told you all he said,” answered Jethro; “’twahn’t a great deal.”

The senator held out his hand.

“Bass,” he said, laughing, “I believe you came pretty near meeting your match.  But if Grant’s the hardest man in the Union to get anything out of, I’ve a notion who’s the second.”  And with this parting shot the senator took his departure, chuckling to himself as he went.

As has been said, there were but few visitors in Washington at this time, and the hotel corridor was all but empty.  Presently a substantial-looking gentleman came briskly in from the street, nodding affably to the colored porters and bell-boys, who greeted him by name.  He wore a flowing Prince Albert coat, which served to dignify a growing portliness, and his coal-black whiskers glistened in the light.  A voice, which appeared to come from nowhere in particular, brought the gentleman up standing.

“How be you, Heth?”

It may not be that Mr. Sutton’s hand trembled, but the ashes of his cigar fell to the floor.  He was not used to visitations, and for the instant, if the truth be told, he was not equal to looking around.

“Like Washington, Heth—­like Washington?”

Then Mr. Sutton turned.  His presence of mind, and that other presence of which he was so proud, seemed for the moment to have deserted him.

“S-stick pretty close to business, Heth, comin’ down here out of session time.  S-stick pretty close to business, don’t you, since the people sent you to Congress?”

Mr. Sutton might have offered another man a cigar or a drink, but (as is well known) Jethro was proof against tobacco or stimulants.

“Well,” said the Honorable Heth, catching his breath and making a dive, “I am surprised to see you, Jethro,” which was probably true.

“Th-thought you might be,” said Jethro.  “Er—­glad to see me, Heth—­glad to see me?”

As has been recorded, it is peculiarly difficult to lie to people who are not to be deceived.

“Why, certainly I am,” answered the Honorable Heth, swallowing hard, “certainly I am, Jethro.  I meant to have got to Coniston this summer, but I was so busy—­”

“Peoples’ business, I understand.  Er—­hear you’ve gone in for high-minded politics, Heth—­r-read a highminded speech of yours—­two high-minded speeches.  Always thought you was a high-minded man, Heth.”

“How did you like those speeches, Jethro?” asked Mr. Sutton, striving as best he might to make some show of dignity.

“Th-thought they was high-minded,” said Jethro.

Then there was a silence, for Mr. Sutton could think of nothing more to say.  And he yearned to depart with a great yearning, but something held him there.

“Heth,” said Jethro after a while, “you was always very friendly and obliging.  You’ve done a great many favors for me in your life.”