"For mobs and meddling politicians, certainly! I put them all in the same class in a time like this."
General Totten clucked a stuffy chuckle and clanked on his official way.
Captain Sweetsir heard a sound that was as fully exasperating as the click of dice; somebody, somewhere in the dimly lighted rotunda, was snoring. He had previously found sluggards asleep on settees; he went in search of the latest offender. But his thoughts were occupied principally by reflection on that peculiar reticence of the Morrison of St. Ronan's; Mill-student Sweetsir was assailed by doubts of the correctness of General Totten's comfortable conclusions. Mr. Sweetsir, in the line of business, had had opportunity on previous occasions to observe the reaction of the Morrison's reticence.
The adjutant-general did not bother with the elevator. He marched up the middle of the grand stairway.
The State House was only partially illuminated with discreet stint of lights. All the outside incandescents of dome, porte-cochère, and vestibules had been extinguished. The inside lights were limited to those in the corridors and the lobbies. The great building on Capitol Hill seemed like a cowardly giant, clumsily intent on being inconspicuous.
General Totten did not harmonize with the hush. He was distinctly an ambulatory noise in the corridor which led to the executive department. He was announced informally, therefore, to His Excellency. There was no way of announcing oneself formally to the Governor at that hour, except by rapping on the door of the private chamber. The reception-room was empty, the private secretary was not on duty, the messenger of the Governor and of the Executive Council had been informed by Governor North that his services would not be required for the rest of the evening.
Being both adjutant-general and brother-in-law, Totten did not bother to knock.
The Governor was at his broad table in the center of the room; the big chandelier above the table was ablaze, and the shadows of the grooves on North's face were accentuated. He was staring at the opening door with an expectancy that had been fully apprised as to the caller's identity, and he was not cordial. "You make a devilish noise lugging that meat-cleaver around, Amos. What's the use of all the full-dress nonsense?"
"Official example and"—the general bore down hard on the conjunction—"the absolute necessity of a civilian officer getting into uniform when he exercises authority. I know human nature!"
"All right! Maybe you do. But don't trip yourself up with that sword and fall down and break your neck," advised the Governor, satirically solicitous as one of the family. "Anything stirring down-stairs?"