VII
RANKIN’S announcement was a simple one, and was made without flourish. It was merely that at a meeting of the congressional committee held the day before at Lincoln, a congressional convention had been called to assemble at Pekin, on Tuesday of the following week. The announcement was a surprise to none more than to Garwood himself. It reached him in the mysterious way that news spreads, on his way down town Monday morning, and, when it was mentioned to him he smiled blandly with his old cunning as if he had known it all along. He hastened to his office, and waited there half an hour before Rankin appeared, perspiring, florid and expanding with self-satisfaction.
“Well,” he said, standing an instant in the doorway and fanning his streaming face with his hat, “think you’d lost me?”
Garwood, not having had time to estimate the political effect of the move Rankin had made, and somewhat annoyed with Rankin for not having told him of his intentions before executing them, took refuge in the congressional demeanor he had studied from numerous impressive models in the District of Columbia.
“I have been awaiting a conference with you,” he said. He had also learned at Washington to call meetings where there was to be political scheming, “conferences.”
“Well,” said Rankin, dropping his wide hat to the floor, “I thought I’d see if it could be done first, and tell you afterwards.”
“So I assumed.”
Rankin glanced at Garwood somewhat uneasily. He did not like the new mood of Garwood.
“Oh, it’s all right,” he assured him, “wait till I tell you. I knew that Sprague and Pusey were at work, but they needed time. Our play was to force their hand at once. What we want is a speedy convention so—what?”
“I said I was not so sure of that,” Garwood repeated.