Colonel Manysnifters's story was very thirst-provoking, and President Madison, our grinning drink-mixer, had a busy half-hour of it. It was now about seven o'clock and we were again overtaken by the storm, which hurled itself upon us, fairly rocking the car in its violence. The train, which had been proceeding slowly and jerkily, now came to a full stop. An avalanche of snow, earth, and loose stones had fallen at the end of a deep cut. Had we been going at any speed an awful catastrophe would have resulted. As it was we were barely moving when we ran into the obstruction. It would be hours before the track could be cleared, and there was no relief in sight. Fortunately, we were well provisioned, and could stand a siege of a day or so in any event. The brakeman set out on his long, hard journey to the nearest telegraph station, swinging his lantern, and swearing picturesquely. Every precaution was taken to guard the train against further accident. Our party accepted the inevitable philosophically. Dinner was announced, and amid the good things provided by our chef we soon forgot our mishap.

"Now, gentlemen," said Colonel Manysnifters genially, between the soup and fish, "let's cut out golf, religion, baseball, and politics, and get down to serious subjects. Senator, what is the best poker hand you ever held?"

Senator Wendell, thus addressed, said, with a far-away look in his eyes, "Let me see, let me see. Oh, I remember now; it happened twice—three times—or was it three times? Twice I will swear to."

"How's that?"

"I say it happened twice; I am positive of it—and before the draw, too."

"Who was dealing?" asked the Colonel eagerly.

"Poker stories barred," said Senator Baker sternly. "Remember, gentlemen, that this is a non-partisan gathering; not only that, but some of us know absolutely nothing about the game. And yet, and yet," said he thoughtfully, as if to himself, "it is a fascinating subject. Why, on one occasion,—I will never forget it,—being right under the guns, I passed without looking at my hand. The man next to me opened the pot, and all the rest stayed. I picked up my cards carelessly, and imagine my delight when I found that I had——"

"Senator, Senator," said Van Rensselaer reproachfully, "I am surprised. I didn't think you would go back on the sentiments you so warmly espoused a few moments ago. Let us avoid so agitating a topic. Personally," continued he, slowly and dreamily, as if going into a trance, "I have no objection to the game. I have played it myself, though I do not pose as an expert. Coming over on the steamer last summer—'twas the night before we landed—the game was steep, painfully steep, and nothing friendly about it, with the lid off finally. I was about two thousand to the bad,—it was the consolation round, ending with and up to me,—my deal, and the fellows counting and stacking their chips preparatory to cashing in. I doled the papes with deliberation, and a saddened soul, and skinned my hand carefully. They were hearts—all but one. A seven, four, six, five and a trey of clubs. That's the way they came to me. A nice little straight, but apparently not nice enough. All the fellows stayed, and there was considerable hoisting before the draw. Then the man next to me took one card; the Englishman with the monocle, two; General Thomas, one; the fat man from Cincinnati, three (to his aces), and Doctor McNab stood pat; and then discarding the trey of clubs—foolhardy, very foolhardy, but I did it—I dealt myself one—the eight of hearts! My, how good I felt! The battle was on! Backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, until one by one the players dropped out, leaving the Doctor and myself to settle it. Doctor McNab saw my three thousand and raised me five.

"Five better," said I.

"Back at you," said he; the others in the meanwhile keeping tab in their notebooks.

"Once again," said I.

"And again," said he.

"That was about all I could stand, and I called him. With a leer of triumph he threw his hand on the table, face-up, displaying——"

"Stop him, stop him!" shouted Mr. Ridley, rising excitedly. "Don't let him take the money! If I'd a knowed you at the time, brother, it never would a happened! I'd a put you wise to that McNab. He ain't no more doctor than I am, and his name ain't McNab either! The scar-faced son of a gun! I've been up against him, and so has Bull; ain't you, Nathan?"

"Poker stories are barred, I believe," said the Senator coldly.

Mr. Ridley's face was a study.

"Well, I'll be damned!" he muttered, with his mouth full of potatoes. "Let's change the subject; there are lots of other things to talk about. I like war stories, myself. Senator," said he, turning to Senator Hammond, "the first time I ever saw you—and then it was some distance off—you were in the biggest kind of a hurry; I never saw a man so anxious to get from here, say, to over there."

"When was it? I do not recollect," said the old veteran pleasantly.

"Why, at Bull Run; don't you remember Bull Run?"

"Do I? Well, I should say I did. You fellows certainly had us going that day, and if you had been smart you would have pushed matters, captured Washington, and thus ended the war, or at least have been in a position to dictate your own terms. As to our retreat, I remember so well the disgusted tones of a staunch Union lady living in Washington, speaking to one of the boys on the night of our return.

"'You coward!' she said bitterly, 'to run away at the first fire! Don't you know that the finger of scorn will be pointed at you all the rest of your life?'

"'That may be so, lady,' said the soldier doggedly, 'but I'd ruther hev the finger o' scorn pinted at me any time than one o' them damned Rebel cannon!'

"And another of the boys limping by, foot-sore and weary, was accosted by this same angry dame, 'You ran, did you? You ran! Shame! Shame! A big fellow like you! Why did you run?'

"'I run, mum, 'cause I couldn't fly, that's why I run!'"

"Yes, quite true; and yet, after all, how like the moon we are," muttered one of the newspaper men disconnectedly.

"How so?" inquired Senator Hammond acidly.

"Why, here we are, full—gloriously full—on the twentieth of the month, and eight days later, down to our last quarter."

"That's bad, very bad, O'Brien," said another scribe mournfully. "Forgive him, Senator. I will have something to say to him later." Withering glances were cast at the unlucky one, who seemed about to sink under the table, and the wind outside howled dismally, and rattled the windows in its rage.

Senator Pennypacker.

The situation was steadied somewhat by Senator Pennypacker. The Senator, who entered public life five years ago a poor man, and who, by living economically, saving his pay, and borrowing his chewing tobacco, is at present worth considerably over a million dollars, now favored the company with some sage remarks as to the tendency of the times toward extravagance, the high cost of living in Washington, the iniquity of the boarding-house keepers, and the difficulty he had to make both ends meet. The Senator is a tall, lank, ungainly looking man; thin lipped, with mean, cunning eyes, strained ever for the main chance. A few tufts of reddish hair are flattened on either side of his cranium, and his nose and chin were sharpened on the grindstone of necessity and early hardship into twin beaks. Verily a vulture, battening now on the Trusts, and feared and hated by other birds of smaller body and weaker wing. With him, Selfishness is indeed the main-spring of Ambition! His features are well-known to the public through the medium of those extensive advertisements in the papers heralding the great vegetable remedy "Gee-Soo-Na."

His remarks were received in silence, though a careful observer might have noticed an exchange of solemn winks between Colonel Manysnifters and Sammy Ridley.

"Oh, he is the stingy one, all right," Colonel Manysnifters confided later to Mr. Ridley. "He is the kind of fellow who would send his best girl a box of candy Saturday morning, and call around Sunday night and eat it all up."

When the Senator had fully delivered himself, some one brought up the negro question.

"They certainly are the limit in Washington," said Colonel Manysnifters. "The sassy black rascals seem to think they own the town. And nigger policemen, too! Think of a white man being arrested by a nigger policeman!"

"I do not see why lawbreakers should object to the color of the man who gathers them in," said Van Rensselaer sarcastically.

"We Southerners do, anyway," retorted the Colonel hotly.

"You Southerners should behave yourselves, then there would be no trouble," observed Senator Hammond dryly.

"Well, that's all right, now," said Colonel Manysnifters, flaring up, "we don't expect you Northerners to feel as we do about it! We——"

"Come, come, Manysnifters," said Senator Bull pacifically, "don't get excited. Don't let the 'nigger in the wood-pile' spoil this occasion. Calm yourself."

"Oh, I'm not excited. It takes a lot to excite me," said the Colonel; "but just to give you an idea of how things are going in Washington, a cousin of mine from Atlanta, a kindly disposed chap as ever lived, meeting an old negress on the street there the other day, said to her, 'Well, Auntie, how are you this bright morning?'

"'Huh!' exclaimed the old woman angrily, 'Auntie! Don't you call me no Auntie! I ain't yoh aunt, and I ain't yoh uncle; I'se yoh ekal!' Now wouldn't that jar you? That's the way the niggers feel about it in Washington."

"Forget it, Manysnifters," urged Senator Bull, "forget it. Give the colored brother a show. He will work out his own salvation."

"At the end of a rope," growled the Colonel.

"Be charitable, sir, be charitable," said Senator Pennypacker ponderously. "The negro problem lies with the white people of the South. They will solve it. Give them time. Perhaps they may find

"Oh, we will solve it all right," said Colonel Manysnifters knowingly, "trust us for that. Only—you Northern folks keep your hands off. That's all we ask!"

Mr. Ridley, to soothe the fiery Southerner, poured out a generous libation, and the dark cloud rolled over.