Anxious eyes scanned the hills about Washington.

The enemy had been very near once before, and he might soon be near again.
Dick had an hour of leisure, and he wandered into an old hotel, at which many great men had lived.

They would point to Henry Clay's famous chair in the lobby, and the whole place was thick with memories of Webster, Calhoun and others who had seemed almost demigods to their own generation.
But a different crowd was there now.

They were mostly paunchy men who talked of contracts and profits.

One, to whom the others paid deference, was fat, heavy and of middle age, with a fat, heavy face and pouches under his eyes.