All-Wool Morrison Part 33

"Gentlemen, I'll let you construe your own contracts according to your consciences. I have one of my own to carry out. Mac Tavish has just handed me a jolt on it!

"Governor North, seeing that your contract with the state is temporarily suspended, I suppose we'll have to excuse you to some extent, after all!

Mac Tavish, step here, close to me!"

The old man obeyed; the two stood in the full glare of the chandelier.

Stewart held up his right hand. "You're a notary public, Andrew.

Administer an oath! Like that one you administered to me when I was sworn in as mayor of Marion. You can remember the gist of it."

"In what capaceety do you serve, Master Morrison?" inquired Mac Tavish, stolidly.

Stewart hesitated a moment, taking thought. "I'm going to volunteer as a sort of an Executive, gentlemen," he explained, deferentially. "The exigency seems to need one. I have heard that a good Executive is one who acts quickly and is right--part of the time! I'm indebted to Senator Corson for a suggestion he made a little while ago. I think, Mac Tavish, you'd better swear me in as Boss of the Job."

XVI

THE CITY OF MARION SEEKS ITS MAYOR

Gaiety's glaring brilliancy on Corson Hill had been effectually snuffed by the onslaught of the mob. The mansion hid its lights behind shades and shutters. The men of the orchestra had packed their instruments; the dismayed guests put on their wraps and called for their carriages.

In the place of lilting violins and merry tongues, hammers clattered and saws rasped; the servants were boarding up the broken windows.

Lana Corson, closeted with Mrs. Stanton, found the discord below-stairs peculiarly hateful; it suggested so much, replacing the music.

The rude hand of circ.u.mstance had been laid so suddenly on the melody of life!

"And I'll say again--" pursued Mrs. Stanton, breaking a silence that had lain between the two.

"Don't say it again! Don't! Don't!" It was indignant expostulation instead of supplication and the matron instantly exhibited relief.

"Thank goodness, Lana! Your symptoms are fine! You're past the crisis and are on the mend. Get angrier! Stay angry! It's a healthy sign in any woman recovering from such a relapse as has been threatening you since you came back home."

"Will you not drop the topic?" demanded Miss Corson, with as much menace as a maiden could display by tone and demeanor.

"As your nurse in this period of convalescence," insisted the imperturbable lady, "I find your temperature encouraging. The higher the better, in a case like this! But I'd like to register on your chart a hard-and-fast declaration from you that you'll never again expose yourself to infection from the same quarter!"

Lana did not make that declaration; she did not reply to her friend.

The two were in the Senator's study. Lana had led the retreat to that apartment; its wainscoted walls and heavy door shut out in some measure the racket of hammers and saws.

She walked to the window and pulled aside the curtain and looked out into the night.

Between Corson Hill and Capitol Hill, in the broad bowl of a valley, most of the structures of the city of Marion were nested. The State House loomed darkly against the radiance of the winter sky.

She was still wondering what that blood-stained intruder had meant when he declaimed about the job waiting on Capitol Hill, and she found disquieting suggestiveness in the gloom which wrapped the distant State House. Even the calm in the neighborhood of the Corson mansion troubled her; the scene of the drama, whatever it was all about, had been s.h.i.+fted; the talk of men had been of prospective happenings at the State House, and that talk was ominous. Her father was there. She was fighting an impulse to hasten to the Capitol and she a.s.sured herself that the impulse was wholly concerned with her father.

"I'll admit that the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts, just as that poet has said they are," Mrs. Stanton went on, one topic engrossing her. "But I'm a.s.suming that there's an end to 'em, just as there is to the much-talked-of long lane. In poems there's a lot of nonsense about marrying one's own first love--and I suppose the thing is done, sometimes.

Yes, I'm quite sure of it, because it's written up so often in the divorce cases. If I had married any one of the first five fellows I was engaged to, probably my own case would have been on record in the newspapers before this. Lana dear, why don't you come here and sit down and confide in a friend and a.s.sure her that you're safe and sane from now on?"

Miss Corson, as if suddenly made aware that somebody in the room was talking, snapped herself 'bout face.

"Doris, what are you saying to me?"

"I'm giving you a little soothing dissertation on love--the right kind of love--the sensible kind--"

"How do you dare to annoy me with such silliness in a time like this?"

"Why, because this is just the right moment for you to tell me that you are forever done with the silly kind of love. Mushy boy-and-girl love is wholly made up of illusions. This Morrison man isn't leaving you any illusions in regard to himself, is he?"

Miss Corson came away from the window with a rush; her cheeks were danger-flags. "You seem to be absolutely determined to drive me to say something dreadful to you, Doris! I've been trying so hard to remember that you're my guest."

"Your friend, you mean!"

"You listen to me! I'm making my own declarations to myself about the men in this world--the ones I know. If I should say out loud what I think of them--or if I should say what I think of friends who meddle and maunder on about love--_love_--I'd be ashamed if I were overheard. Now not another word, Doris Stanton!" She stamped her foot and beat her hand hard on the table in a manner that smacked considerably of the Senator's violence when his emotions were stirred. "I'm ashamed of myself for acting like this. I hate such displays! But I mean to protect myself. And now keep quiet, if you please. I have something of real importance to attend to, even if you haven't."

She went to a niche in the wall and pulled out the private telephone instrument; the pressure of a b.u.t.ton was required to put in a call. After the prolonged wait, Senator Corson's voice sounded, high-pitched, urgent.

His appeal was broken short off.

Lana stared at Mrs. Stanton while making futile efforts to get a reply to frantic questions; fear paled the girl's face and widened her eyes.

"What has happened, Lana?"

"It's father! He asked for help! It's something--some danger--something dreadful." She clung to the telephone for several minutes, demanding, listening, hoping for further words--the completion of his orders to her.

Then, abandoning her efforts, she made haste to call the sheriff of the county, using the study extension of the regular telephone.

The customary rattle informed her that the line was in use, after she had called for the number, looking it up in the directory. When she finally did succeed in getting the ear of the sheriff she was informed in placatory orotund by that official that all her fears were groundless. "I have been talking with the State House just before you called me, Miss Corson. I am a.s.sured on the best of authority that everything is all right, there." He was plainly indulging what he accepted as the vagaries of hysteria--having been apprised by the matter-of-fact Mac Tavish that some nonsensical news might come through an excited female. "I think you must have misconstrued what your father said. My informant is known to me as reliable. Oh no, Miss Corson, I cannot give you his name. It's a rule of the sheriff's office that individuals who give information have their ident.i.ties respected. If the Senator is at the State House you can undoubtedly reach him by 'phone in the Executive Chamber." He placidly bade her good night.

But Miss Corson was unable to communicate with the Executive Chamber.

After many delays she was informed that central had tried repeatedly and directly through the State House exchange, as was the custom after the departure of the exchange operators for the night; central officially reported, "Line out of order."

During her efforts to communicate, Coventry Daunt hastened into the study; he had tapped and he obeyed his sister's admonition, "Come in!"

"I tell you something terrible is the matter," Lana declared, giving up her efforts to get news over the wire. "Coventry, your looks tell me that you have heard bad news of some sort!"

"I don't want to be an alarmist," admitted young Daunt, "but all sorts of whip-whap stuff seem to be in the air all of a sudden. I just took a run down to the foot of the hill. The bees are buzzing a little livelier there than they are in the neighborhood of the house. Up here some soldier boys are waving their bayonets and fat cops are swinging clubs. We're all right, ladies, but there are all sorts of stories about what's likely to happen up at the State House. I've come to tell you that if you can do without me I think I'll take a swing over to Capitol Hill. I don't want to miss anything good, and I'll bring back straight news."

"I can't endure to wait here for news, Coventry," Lana said. "Order the car; I'll go along with you."

"It's absolute folly!" declared Mrs. Stanton, aghast, "Haven't you had enough experience with mobs for one evening?"

"I am going to my father, mobs or no mobs! I know his voice and I know he's in trouble, no matter what that idiot of a sheriff tells me." She hurried to the door. "Order the car, I say! I'll get my wraps."

Mrs. Stanton divided rueful gaze between her own evening gown and Lana's.

"Are you going with that dress on?"