"You'll protect the people, eh? There's a flatterer in your mob, Morrison! You can't even give window-glass in this city suitable protection—a mayor like you! I'll have none of your soviet police around my premises." He turned to his secretary. "Call the adjutant-general at the State House and tell him to send a detachment of troops here."
"I trust they'll co-operate well with the police I shall send," stated the
Mayor, stiffly. He hastened from the room.
When Stewart had donned hat and overcoat and was about to leave the mansion by the main door, Lana stepped in front of him. "Stewart, you must stop for a moment—you must deny it, what father has been saying to me about you just now!"
"Your father is angry—and in anger a man says a whole lot that he doesn't mean. I'm in a hurry—and a man in a hurry spoils anything he tries to tell. We must let it wait, Lana."
"But if you go on—go on as you're going—crushing Mr. Daunt's plans—spoiling your own grand prospects—antagonizing my father—paying no heed to my advice!" The girl's sentences were galloping breathlessly.
"We'll have time to talk it over, Lana!"
"What! Talk it over after you have been reckless enough to spoil everything? You must stand with your friends, I tell you! Father is wiser than you! Isn't he right?"
"I—I guess he thinks he is—but I can't talk about it." He was backing toward the door.
"You must know what it means—for us two—if you go headlong against him.
I stand stanchly for my father—always!"
"I reckon you'll have to be sort of loyal to your father—but I can't talk about it! Not now!" he repeated. He was uncomfortably aware that he had no words to fit the case.