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Updated: July 1, 2025
"Halloa, guard! what's wrong on the line?" "Run into a goods' train," said he, keeping on his course to the Vice-President's sleigh. "Du Meresq never tells one anything," said Jack; "I hate a mysterious fellow; somebody's capsized, I suppose, and he's gone for some brandy." "Perhaps for a shovel," suggested Bluebell. "Colonel Rolleston may have come to a drift."
To the important post of "watch-dog of the Treasury," he was, nem. con., the successor to the lamented Holman. In this connection a suggestive incident is recalled. One of the guides of the Capitol, when some years ago showing a visitor through the Vice-President's chamber, called attention to a little old-fashioned mirror upon its walls.
On that memorable morning the Vice-President's chair was occupied by that intellectual giant of the South, John C. Calhoun. Before him were Van Buren, Forsyth, Hayne, Clayton, the omniverous Benton, the sturdy John Quincy Adams, and, in the seething crowd, was the gaunt skeleton form of John Randolph of Roanoke. Mr.
The Sixth was quartered in the Senate wing of the Capitol. Colonel Jones occupied the Vice-President's chair in the Senate Chamber, his colors hanging over his head from the reporters' gallery.
Subsequently, the members of General Grant's Cabinet came into the room and were introduced to the President-elect. The stay at the White House occupied less than half an hour, and from there the party drove to the Capitol and were ushered into the Vice-President's room, adjoining the Senate Chamber. Here the President-elect held quite a levee, lasting nearly two hours.
It was at this point that the listener in the musicians' gallery, a prey to tumultuous emotions which were making the freshly healing wound in his head throb like a trip-hammer, lost all of his compunctions and drew closer to the fretwork screen. "He didn't need any special instructions," was the vice-president's rejoinder, and his tone chimed in with the hard-bitted smile.
He poised for one brief and immobile moment, deep in thought, before he swung about to the three exigent figures making signs for his attention. Then the thin-featured, many-wrinkled, weary-eyed face relaxed in an almost honest and unequivocal smile. Trotter, shut in the Vice-President's private office, paid little attention to his surroundings.
I reviewed the whole of the Vice-President's letter, debating every circumstance connected with the robbery, and finally ended my consideration of the subject with the firm conviction that the robbery had been committed either by the agent, Maroney, or by the messenger, and I was rather inclined to give the blame to Maroney.
Having already convinced himself that the time was ripe for a straightforward declaration of principles, Evan Blount saw in the arrival of the Overland, with the vice-president's private car attached, only an added argument for haste. During the better part of the long tramp in the outskirts of the city he had been halting between two opinions.
The vice-president's promise was freely given; and to expedite matters, the division superintendent's chief clerk went down to the station with Adair to see the special train properly equipped and started on the mountain-climbing run. Adair left the details to this orderly from the general offices; not knowing how to compass them himself, he had to.
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