Harlan was still a little stiff. It was not easy for him to get into the state of political pliability that he saw others assume so readily.
"I'm a countryman, and pretty awkward in most everything I undertake,"
he said. "I have no business meddling in the big affairs of this State.
I'll take my place where I belong, after this, Mr. Presson. If I don't,
I'll not have a friend left—not even my own grandfather."
The chairman glanced at him curiously, scenting something like duplicity under this bitter frankness. He was not used to seeing men throw aside such advantages as this young man had gained.
The three entered the hotel through the side door, and at the General's request the chairman accompanied him and his young lieutenant to their headquarters. It was near the luncheon hour, and Presson had suggested that he conduct them to Mrs. Presson.
A party of men had taken possession of the General's suite. They rose when he entered. They paid no attention to Harlan, but surveyed Chairman Presson with disfavor that was very noticeable.
Several of the men were clergymen, advertised as such by their white ties and frock-coats. Those who attended them had the unmistakable air of zealots. Their demeanor showed that they had come on business that they considered serious.
General Waymouth knew them. He addressed one or two by name, and was gracious in his greeting of the others.
"We wait on you," began their spokesman, one of the ministers, "as a committee from the United Temperance Societies."
"My time is not my own just now, gentlemen," explained General Waymouth. "I have a luncheon engagement with Mr. and Mrs. Presson. I will see you at some other time."
The faces of all of them grew saturnine at that announcement. For Chairman Presson was not recognized as the especial friend of prohibition by the fanatics of the State.