“Would you have her sign our petition?” asked the Colonel, innocently.

Harry laughed.  “Women don’t get anything by petitioning Congress; nobody does, that’s for form.  Petitions are referred somewhere, and that’s the last of them; you can’t refer a handsome woman so easily, when she is present.  They prefer ’em mostly.”

The petition however was elaborately drawn up, with a glowing description of Napoleon and the adjacent country, and a statement of the absolute necessity to the prosperity of that region and of one of the stations on the great through route to the Pacific, of the, immediate improvement of Columbus River; to this was appended a map of the city and a survey of the river.  It was signed by all the people at Stone’s Landing who could write their names, by Col.  Beriah Sellers, and the Colonel agreed to have the names headed by all the senators and representatives from the state and by a sprinkling of ex-governors and ex-members of congress.  When completed it was a formidable document.  Its preparation and that of more minute plots of the new city consumed the valuable time of Sellers and Harry for many weeks, and served to keep them both in the highest spirits.

In the eyes of Washington Hawkins, Harry was a superior being, a man who was able to bring things to pass in a way that excited his enthusiasm.  He never tired of listening to his stories of what he had done and of what he was going to do.  As for Washington, Harry thought he was a man of ability and comprehension, but “too visionary,” he told the Colonel.  The Colonel said he might be right, but he had never noticed anything visionary about him.

“He’s got his plans, sir.  God bless my soul, at his age, I was full of plans.  But experience sobers a man, I never touch any thing now that hasn’t been weighed in my judgment; and when Beriah Sellers puts his judgment on a thing, there it is.”

Whatever might have been Harry’s intentions with regard to Laura, he saw more and more of her every day, until he got to be restless and nervous when he was not with her.

That consummate artist in passion allowed him to believe that the fascination was mainly on his side, and so worked upon his vanity, while inflaming his ardor, that he scarcely knew what he was about.  Her coolness and coyness were even made to appear the simple precautions of a modest timidity, and attracted him even more than the little tendernesses into which she was occasionally surprised.  He could never be away from her long, day or evening; and in a short time their intimacy was the town talk.  She played with him so adroitly that Harry thought she was absorbed in love for him, and yet he was amazed that he did not get on faster in his conquest.