"I'll go out and find him," whispered Barkley, and so slipped out of the room.
He did find him, aloof, alone, pacing slowly up and down the street, the one man needed by both divergent interests, and the one man absent. "Good God! Anderson," protested Barkley. "What are you doing out here by yourself? We need you in there. They're like bumps on a log. We can't get them started at all."
"That's funny," said Dan Anderson.
"Funny! I don't think it's very funny. You are the one supposed to understand these men, and we want you now to deliver the goods."
"If you will pardon me, sir," said Dan Anderson, facing him with his hands in his pockets, "I don't exactly like that expression."
"Like it or not," retorted Barkley, hotly. "You belong in there, and not out here in the moonlight studying over your maiden speech. What are you afraid of?"
"Of nothing," said Dan Anderson, simply. "Or, of nothing but myself."
"But we need another strong talk to stir them up."
"Go make it, then."
"What's that!" cried Barkley, sharply; "you'll not come in."