Thither Tom bent his steps, thoughtfully, and with a quiet mind.

There was a small veranda at the side of the house; here he stood unobserved to look in upon his noisy and agitated friends.
They were all there, from the old General and Mr.Bareaud, to the latter's son, Jefferson, and young Frank Chenoweth.

They were gathered about a big table upon which stood a punch-bowl and Trumble, his brow as angry red as the liquor in the cup he held, was proposing a health to the President in a voice of fury.
"In spite of all the Crailey Grays and traitors this side of hell!" he finished politely.
Crailey emerged instantaneously from the general throng and mounted a chair, tossing his light hair back from his forehead, his eyes sparkling and happy.

"You find your own friends already occupying the place you mentioned, do you, General ?" he asked.
General Trumble stamped and shook his fist.
"You're a spawn of Aaron Burr!" he vociferated.

"There's not a man here to stand by your infernal doctrines.