“Aunt Betty and Alfy,” called Dorothy, “both of you must come too, so you can hear what Mr. Ludlow has to say, for you know you belong to the company, too.”

Ruth rushed up to Dorothy and whispered, “I think you were very mean, keeping Mr. Dauntrey all to yourself last night, and making me stay with Mr. Ludlow. He was so cross. I hope he is better natured to-day, or when we rehearse this afternoon we will all have trouble.”

“I didn’t take Mr. Dauntrey,” answered Dorothy in a very surprised tone of voice. “I didn’t seek his company. He just took us and put us in a taxicab and that’s all.”

“Sh!” whispered Ruth, “here he is now. Isn’t he a handsome man?”

“I don’t particularly care for his style. He is too effeminate looking. Come over here and sit down by Aunt Betty and I,” and Dorothy started to walk over to where the others sat. Ruth did not follow her, however, but remained just where she was.

“And how is Miss Ruth, to-day?” inquired Mr. Dauntrey. “I am quite longing for our real work to start so I can hear you sing. I am sure it will be a great pleasure.”

Mr. Ludlow entered just then as Ruth looked up to Mr. Dauntrey, and murmured, “Ah, that was so nice of you to say.”

“Are you all here?” inquired Mr. Ludlow. “Let me take a little account of you.” Mentally he ran over the small list of people. “All ready then. All sit down and make yourselves comfortable. I will only detain you a few minutes now. We are going to have a very important recital in the new National Theatre to-morrow night. I have a little typewritten letter for each of you. I will give these to Mr. Dauntrey and he will hand them to you.” Turning to Mr. Dauntrey he handed him a number of white envelopes, saying: “There now, don’t neglect to give each one the proper envelope.”

Turning once more to the rest of them, he continued, “If by any chance you don’t happen to like the instructions contained in those envelopes, report at once to Mr. Dauntrey and he will take up the matter with me, or refer you to me.”

Mr. Ludlow had had many dealings with performers before, and he knew from experience that it was better to give instructions this way. It avoided open contentions which were likely when one artist thought he or she was slighted, and enabled each one to know exactly what they had to do, for there was no mistaking written orders.

“The new National Theatre,” continued Mr. Ludlow, “is on Pennsylvania avenue near Thirteenth street, and is of great capacity and comfort. I hope you will all do your best for I have written to the President, and have asked him to accept, as a token of our respect, a box for that night. I hope he honors us with his presence, and it may afford you all an opportunity to meet him personally. I expect this concert to be a big thing for us. This city is favorably disposed toward classical concerts, and Mr. Dauntrey has worked hard sending out special announcements for us.

“I expect each of you to do your very best and look your very best. Always look your best. Looks go a great way. If people see you enter the stage confidently and look nice – nice and neat, not gaudy, not cheap or overdressed, just good simple dresses, and not made in outlandish styles – their first impression is very apt to be a lasting one. There, I think that is enough of a lecture. I plan to go from here to Pittsburgh, and, with several stops, on to Chicago. From Chicago on to St. Louis, and from there with a half dozen stops, if we are successful, to San Francisco. Just what we will do then I can’t tell now. But I think that is enough to know now.”

“But what hotels are we to stop in at those places, Mr. Ludlow?” inquired Miss Winters.

“I suppose all you fair ladies will want to have a list of the hotels in advance,” laughed Mr. Ludlow, “and you shall have duplicate route lists with dates, which you can send to your friends so you can have mail each morning. I may want you to give two concerts here in Washington, but I am not sure yet,” added Mr. Ludlow. “We also may have to run down to Mount Vernon and give a concert there, so I want you all to be ready to render something different than what you are to use to-morrow. You can each select your own piece. Is there anything now you want to ask me?” he said finally, turning so as to see them all.

“Well,” he continued, “if there is nothing else we will adjourn till this afternoon when I have made appointments with some of you to come here alone so that I may have an idea of how you are doing. If you all would care to, I think it would be a good thing if we visited the Capitol now. You are privileged in each city to do as much sight-seeing as you can and care to without getting over tired.”

They were all appreciative of this courtesy, and thought that that would make their tour a very very pleasant one. Just as soon as Mr. Dauntrey had handed them their envelopes, they departed for their rooms to get hats and coats and be ready to start at once. Aunt Betty also had her guide book, and in a very short time they were all ready for a visit to the Capitol.

The Capitol building commands a central and slightly hilltop position. The grounds in front of the building are perfectly level, but in the rear slope downwards towards the Potomac flats. In the northwestern part of the park is an ivy-covered rest-house, one window of which looks into a grotto.

Ruth thought this a pretty spot indeed, and exclaimed, “Oh, just see here, isn’t this a romantic spot? I could sit here for hours and dream.”

“Wouldn’t that be rather lonesome, Miss Ruth?” said Mr. Dauntrey to her, softly. “Wouldn’t you rather have someone else here with you?”

Ruth did not answer this question, but just gave him an adorable little glance.

“The ground immediately in front of the Capitol is the plaza,” said Mr. Ludlow. “Here vast crowds assemble to witness presidential inaugurations.”

Three flights of broad steps led up to the main entrance, an architecturally effective feature. The southern wing contains the House of Representatives and the northern one the Senate chamber.

“The central portico,” remarked Mrs. Calvert, “I would like to have you notice particularly. It dates back from 1825. The allegorical group cut in sandstone was designed by the President, John Quincy Adams.”

“What does it represent?” questioned Alfy.

“The group represents the genius of our beloved America,” answered Mrs. Calvert. “America is resting her shield upon an altar, while an eagle rests at her feet. She is listening to hope, and points in response to Justice.”

“I think you have told us a very good story of that piece, Mrs. Calvert, and as you are just as well, perhaps better acquainted with this place than I am, do you mind explaining the things occasionally, so as to help me out?” asked Mr. Ludlow.

“Why, it is a pleasure to me, I assure you,” answered Mrs. Calvert, gracefully. “You see I have been here often and I have my indispensable Rand, McNally guide book.”

“Right here where you are standing,” interrupted Mr. Dauntrey, for he wished them to understand that he had been to Washington before and knew something of the place, “is where all the presidents of the United States since the time of Jackson have been inaugurated, the chief justice adminstrating the oath of office here in full view of the onlookers.”

The large bronze doors were thrown back, and all entered the building itself. The entrance takes one immediately into the rotunda, which is of enormous size. The floor is of sandstone, the rotunda being nearly 100 feet in diameter, and almost twice that high. A balcony runs around it, and strangely interesting is the fact that this balcony has a very good whispering echo. The decoration of this huge place is confined mostly to the walls, but there are a few pieces of statuary on the floor.

The great wall space is given to historical pictures of considerable size, and all are familiar to everyone through their reproduction on postals, currency and postage stamps.

The whole party made a tour of the room with much interest, viewing the canvases.

“We might divide these pictures into two classes,” said Mr. Ludlow, “the early historical and revolutionary. The former are, I suspect, to a degree imaginative, but the latter are accurately true to the times and scenes they depict. In the first group are the following: ‘The Landing of Columbus at San Salvador in 1492,’ ‘The Discovery of the Mississippi by De Soto in 1541,’ ‘The Baptism of Pocahontas at Jamestown in 1613,’ and, the last of this group, ‘The Farewell Service on Board the Speedwell.’ This shows an unseaworthy old port now called Lyden, Holland – for America, bearing the first colony of pilgrims who were finally landed on Plymouth Rock by the Mayflower.”

“Then,” Mrs. Calvert pointed out, “there follows the group of Revolutionary pictures. Beside each picture of this group is an outline key which gives the names of the people shown. The first is ‘The Signing of the Declaration of Independence’ in the old hall in Philadelphia in 1776. The second one is the ‘Surrender of Burgoyne at Saratoga’ to General Gates. This picture was made from sketches made on the very spot by Colonel Trumbull, who was a close friend of Washington. He was present at the scene of the next picture also, ‘The Surrender of Lord Cornwallis.’ The British are seen marching between the lines of the Americans and their French allies.

“The fourth is the ‘Resignation of Washington’ as commander-in-chief of his well-tried army, always a rather pathetic scene, it seems to me.”

“How interesting. I could spend hours here, but suppose we must not.”

“Where next?” inquired Dorothy.

“We will go through this door and into what was the original Hall of Representatives, and is now the Statuary Hall,” answered Mrs. Calvert.

The room which they now entered was semi-circular in shape, and whose ceiling is half a dome beneath which is a spacious gallery now filled with a library.

“The House of Representatives used this hall quite generally for fifty years, from 1808 on,” said Mr. Ludlow. “Here Clay, Webster, Adams, Calhoun, Randolph, Cass, and many others won world-wide fame, and made the walls ring with their fiery eloquence. Here were many fierce and bitter wrangles over vexed questions, turbulent scenes, displays of sectional feelings. Too bad they had no talking machines in those days to deal out impassioned oratory for future generations.”

“What is that star set in the floor for?” inquired Ruth; whose interest in oratory of past ages was limited.

“That marks the spot where John Quincy Adams, then a representative from his home, Massachusetts, was prostrated at his desk. See, the date is February 1, 1848,” read Dorothy.

“Where did all these statues come from?” questioned Alfaretta.

“Most of them were bought and placed here, and some of them, I think, were donated,” answered Aunt Betty.

“This statuary hall,” continued Mr. Ludlow, “has great acoustic properties.”

“Shall we get a Capitol guide?” asked Mrs. Calvert. “They say they can amuse one greatly, for they know each place where these strange things can be heard.”

“Yes, I will go and find one. You stay here till I come back,” added Mr. Ludlow, turning to the others. In a few moments he was back, accompanied by a young man in uniform.

The guide showed them where they could hear curious echoes, whispers distinct at a distance, and the ability to hear slight sounds that are inaudible at your elbow. They all tried these experiments. Ruth took her place at one corner of the room and Dorothy in the other corner at the same side of the room. The guide told them that they could converse in a low tone, yet each heard distinctly what the other said.

Ruth started off by saying, “Dorothy, do you believe what this guide is telling us or do you think he is fooling us?”

Dorothy was greatly surprised when she found she could hear quite plainly what Ruth said, and answered, “I am surprised to say I do.”

At this ambiguous answer they all laughed. Then, one by one, they tried the experiment, each finding how perfectly it worked out.

Leaving Statuary Hall by the door under the arch, they traversed the corridor to the present Hall of Representatives. It is an oblong room of liberal size. The ceiling is a framework of iron, bronzed and gilded, and inlaid with glass upon which the coats-of-arms of the States are painted. The light effect is beautiful; the colors are mellowed rather than obscured.

The Speaker’s raised desk is against the southern wall and below this are the marble desks of the official reporters. The latter keep a stenographic record of everything done or said, to be published the next morning so that those who are absent or pay little attention to what is going on may still keep posted on the progress of events. The sergeant-at-arms is within easy call. This latter officer is called the Speaker’s policeman – the representative of the physical force, and his symbol of authority is the mace, which reposes on a marble pedestal at the right of the speaker.

“The mace was adopted by the House in the first Congress,” explained Mr. Ludlow. “It has been in use ever since.”

“How do they use it?” questioned Dorothy.

“When it is placed upon its pedestal,” he answered, “it signifies that the House is in session, and under the Speaker’s authority.”

“I suppose I ought to know, but who is the Speaker, and what does he do?” asked Alfaretta.

“The Speaker,” continued Mr. Ludlow, “is the head of the House, elected by vote of the members.”

“And I have a question,” said Ruth. “What is a mace?”

“In this case, the mace is a bundle of black rods fastened with transverse bands of silver. On its top is a silver globe, surmounted by a silver eagle,” answered Mr. Ludlow, “and when the sergeant-at-arms is executing the commands of the Speaker, he is required to bear aloft the mace in his hands, unlike the House of Parliament, where there is much form and ceremony, there is little else here than quiet dignity.”

Grouped in concentric semi-circles are the desks of the Representatives, all small, uniform and handsome.

“The Republican party all sit on the Speaker’s left and the Democrats on the right,” volunteered Mr. Dauntrey.

“My, but there are a lot of seats,” said Alfy. “Who uses them?”

“In the galleries,” said Mr. Ludlow. “Those over the Speaker’s head are for the press. The others are for onlookers, some for diplomats, friends of the Congressmen, and some for ladies. They hold more than a thousand people, I think.”

Going downstairs they came to the House lobby. This apartment is richly furnished and contains many portraits, most of them being crayon drawings of the Speakers of the past. Passing through this room and out, one comes to the committee rooms in one of which is hung a notable collection of paintings of the principal forts of the United States.

From this corridor, the party descended the eastern grand staircase to a basement corridor which extends from end to end of the Capitol on this ground floor. This they traversed till they came to the Senate chamber. The white marble pillars in this at once attracted their attention.

Mr. Ludlow said, “I want you all to examine these marble pillars carefully and notice that though they are of Corinthian mold, their floriated capitals represent leaves of American plants, the one most used being the tobacco leaf.”

Passing onward, to the right, they saw the old Supreme Court chamber, now used as a law library. All the corridors at this end are bright, and the walls and ceilings are very elaborately decorated with mural designs in the Italian manner, being daintily drawn and brightly colored. Among them are many portraits of early men of note, in medallions, and a long series of charming drawings in colors of American birds and flowers.

The vestibule of the Senate post office is particularly picturesque, having over the post office door a large painting of Fulton, indicating his first steamboat, “The Claremont,” passing the palisades of the Hudson.

A stairway leads on up to the main floor, where corridors completely extend around the Senate chamber, which occupies the center of its wing. Here the ceiling, in contrast with the one of the House, is flat, with broad panels of glass, painted with emblems of the army, the navy and the arts. The walls are of marble, paneled, the doors of choice mahogany, the carpet green, which sets off well the mahogany desks of quaint pattern. Each desk bears a silver plate with the occupant’s name engraved upon it.

“Do the Republicans sit on the left of the Speaker here, and the Democrats on the right, as in the House?” questioned Alfaretta, very proud of herself for having remembered what had been told her in the other room.

“Yes, but there is no Speaker in the Senate,” answered Mr. Ludlow.

“Who is it, then, that uses that beautifully carved high backed chair on that little platform there?” asked Dorothy.

“The president of the Senate is the Vice-President of the United States,” said Mrs. Calvert, smiling and thinking that the girls ought to know more about these things, for they were shockingly lacking in knowledge of all the fundamental principles of the workings of the government.

“Who are all these statues of?” asked Alfaretta, pointing to the niches in the walls.

“These are statues of all the vice-presidents,” answered Mrs. Calvert again.

“Outside here are many interesting things that you will all like to see,” said Mr. Ludlow. “To the right here is the famous portrait of Washington, and opposite, one of John Adams.”

“Is that Benjamin Franklin?” inquired Ruth, looking at a large marble statue at the foot of the eastern staircase, when they had passed through the door situated between the two portraits.

“Yes, and the picture on the wall of the stair landing is a very famous one. It is of Commander Perry at the battle of Lake Erie. Perry is seen transferring himself and his flag from his sinking flagship ‘Lawrence’ to the ‘Niagara,’ when he won that great victory. This transfer was made under fire. Perry’s younger brother, Matthew, then a midshipman, is depicted here as entreating his brother and commander not to expose himself too recklessly,” said Mr. Ludlow in the way of explaining this picture.

“And the faces of the sailors are drawn from once well-known employes about the Capitol,” added Aunt Betty. “My guide book tells me that.”

“This vestibule opens at its inner end into the Senate reception room. The one thing of interest in this room,” said Mr. Ludlow, when they had entered, “is the picture on the south wall. It is of Washington, in conference with Jefferson and Hamilton.”

“Isn’t the room pretty! What luxurious chairs, soft sofas, beautiful rugs, and those cream colored curtains!” exclaimed Ruth.

“Whose room is this?” asked Dorothy, who was becoming tired, and, wanting to move on more rapidly, had gone ahead.

“This next room is the President’s room,” answered Aunt Betty. “It is the custom of the President to sit here during the last day of a Congressional session in order to be ready to sign bills requiring immediate attention. The portraits are those of Washington and his first cabinet members.”

From here they ascended to the gallery floor by way of the western grand staircase, at the foot of which stands the statue of John Hancock. In the wall of the landing is Walker’s painting, “The Storming of Chepultepec.” The scene is during the Mexican War, when it was captured by Scott’s army.

The rooms here in the gallery are numerous committee rooms not open to the public, so they all passed on down the corridor to the interesting rooms that contain Morau’s celebrated pictures of the canyons of the Colorado and of the Yellowstone, which were painted by actual study of the scenes. Those familiar with these marvelous regions of the country recognize that the coloring is by no means overly vivid, and that the drawings are most accurate and natural.

In the adjoining hall is the painting of the encounter between the Monitor and the Merrimac. This picture is the only exception to the rule that no reminder of the Civil War should be placed in the Capitol; an exception due to the fact that this was in reality a drawn battle, where the courage of the contestants was conspicuously equal, and where the naval methods of old found their grave. Its historic interest is, therefore, world-wide.

“The bust, there, Dorothy,” said Aunty Betty, “is of John A. Dix, afterward a major general. It was he, who, when he was Secretary of the Treasury early in the uncivil war, sent to one of his special representatives in a Southern State the famous order containing the words, ‘If anyone attempts to haul down the American flag, shoot him on the spot,’ which so thrilled patriotic hearts.”

“From here let us go to the Supreme Court,” said Mr. Ludlow. “That will finish our tour of the Capitol.”

A small elevator took them down to the main floor, where they walked along the corridor, viewing the portraits of Thomas Jefferson and Patrick Henry.

The Supreme Court of the United States now uses the chamber in the old Capitol which was originally designed for the Senate. The background is a row of columns of variegated gray Potomac marble, with white Ionic capitals. In the centre is the chair of the chief justice, behind which are draped crimson curtains surmounted by a hovering eagle. On the dias below is the long “bench” of the most august court in the land.

“One formal custom here will be of interest,” said Mr. Dauntrey. “On court days the justices enter the room in procession precisely at noon. They wear voluminous black silk gowns, and sit in a prescribed order with the chief justice, of course, in the centre.”

“There. I think we have made a very careful tour of the Capitol. I think we have missed nothing at all of importance,” said Mr. Ludlow. “But I guess by now, you are all tired and anxious to be back to the hotel.”

“What time is it, I wonder?” said Dorothy to herself, and turning to Mr. Ludlow said, “Mr. Ludlow, I feel as if it were time for lunch.”

“Why, it’s one-thirty o’clock,” said Mr. Ludlow. “I am surprised that the time has gone so quickly, so let’s hurry back to the hotel, for we are already late.”

All were hungry and anxious to get back to their luncheon, but no one regretted a single moment spent in this most interesting place.