Part 42 (1/2)

”The car is waiting near the west portico, father,” she ventured to say.

Corson took his time about b.u.t.toning his coat. Lana had her heritage of dark eyes from her father; his wrath had settled into cold malevolence and his eyes above his white cheeks were not pleasant objects. He surveyed the various persons in the room. He took his time in that process, too!

”For the present--for now--for to-night,” he said, quietly, elaborating his mention of the moment with significance, ”we seem to have cleaned up all the business before us. In view of that interregnum, Governor, of which you have been so kindly reminded, I suppose you feel that you can go to your hotel and rest for the remainder of the night so as to be in good trim for the inaugural ceremonies. Allow me to offer you a lift in my car.”

The Governor trudged toward, a ma.s.sive wardrobe in a corner of the chamber.

”I do not presume to offer you the convenience of my car, Mayor Morrison,”

the Senator went on.

”I take it that your recent oath as supreme Executive during the aforesaid interregnum obliges you to stay on the job. Ah--er--do we require a countersign in order to get out of the building?”

The mayor was walking toward the private door. ”No, sir!” he said, mildly.

”I hope you hear that, Governor North! I was compelled to give countersigns to your soldiers--quite emphatic countersigns. The new regime is to be complimented.”

Morrison threw open the door. ”That's all, Rellihan! Report to the chief!”

The newspaper men came crowding to the threshold.

”You have interviewed Mayor Morrison on the situation, haven't you?”

demanded the Senator, breaking in on their questions.

”Yes!”

”To-night--for the time being--for now,” returned Corson, dwelling on the point as emphatically as he had when he spoke before, ”Mayor Morrison seems to be doing very well in all that has been undertaken. I have no statement to make--absolutely no word to say!”

He stepped back and allowed the Governor to lead the retreat; His Excellency collided with two of the more persistent news-gatherers. With volleyed ”No! Nothing!” he marked time for the thudding of his feet.

Apparently Lana had entered into the spirit of that armed truce which, so her father's manner informed her, was merely a rearrangement of the battle-front. She hurried out of the chamber without even a glance in Morrison's direction.

Stewart's grim countenance intimidated the reporters; they went away.

For a long time the mayor paced up and down the Executive Chamber, his hands clasped behind him.

Miss Bunker thumbed the leaves of her note-book, putting on an air of complete absorption in that matter.

Mac Tavish studied the mayor's face; Morrison was wearing that expression which indicated a mood strange for him. Mac Tavish had seen it on the master's face altogether too many times since the Morrison had come from the mill in the forenoon. It was not the look he wore when matters of business engrossed him. The old paymaster liked to see Morrison pondering on mill affairs; it was meditation that always meant solution of difficulties, and the solution was instantly followed by a laugh and good cheer.

But it was plain that Morrison had not solved anything when he turned to Mac Tavish.

”Not much like honest, real business--this, eh, Andy?”

”Naething like, sir!”

”Doesn't seem to be a polite job, either--politics--if you go in and fight the other fellow on his own ground.”