"You shall be put out, and I'll do it!" Laughing, she took him by his arm and led him out into the hall. Protesting, he went. "I have some respect for the feelings of our Governor on a chilly afternoon, even if you haven't. You are excused from our little dinner. Go, now, Harlan. I'm serious."
"There's one thing you have given me," he said, red, half-angry, and thoroughly subdued, "and that's the promise that I may take you to the legislative ball. That's to-morrow night—and we'll see!" He bolted out upon the steps.
"Delightful!" she cried after him. "What an opportunity the stage of City Hall will afford for another!" She shut the door before he could reply.
The Governor rallied him a bit on his disturbed looks as they rode on, but Harlan was in no mood to relish jokes on that subject.
Governor Waymouth had no other guests at dinner. He did not broach his business until they were seated in the little parlor of the modest mansion. The room had been converted into a study.
"To date the session has hardly been what you hoped—perhaps that's too strong a word—what you expected it would be, has it?" inquired the Governor, his earnestness showing that he was ready to begin. He did not wait for a reply.
"Matters have run in the old rut. Every one seems to be satisfied, eh—even the radicals in the prohibition movement? Isn't that so? Their men have introduced some new legislation, adding on more penalties that no officer will ever enforce—but the mere legislation satisfies 'em. Everybody satisfied, apparently." The Governor uttered that last sentence in meditative manner. Then he straightened, and slapped his hand upon his chair-arm so suddenly that Harlan started. "But I am not satisfied!" he shouted. "I have let them run along. I have let them introduce their bills. I have waited for the lawmakers of this State and for the people to take some initiative. I gave them their call last fall in my letter. I hoped that some part of this State was awake. But those few who have shown some signs of civic interest have only pecked around the edges of reform. Nothing has been done, Harlan Thornton. Not one sweeping bill has been introduced. I have waited, hoping. I hoped the people would arise and help me with this burden. But I've waited in vain. There are only two more days in this session allowed for the introduction of new business.
"My boy, I talked first with you about my becoming Governor of this State. That's why I'm talking first with you about this matter. I shall call every man of this legislature to me and talk with him privately, and in that work I want your assistance. I want you to bring them to me. I called you here to-night because to-morrow night folly and fashion will rule all in this city, and I must be there with the rest. Let me tell you, my boy, that when the men of this legislature awake, after that night of frivolity, it will be to open their eyes on some serious business. Not one word about what I intend to do until then. The session has been a very sweet cake till now—let the ball sugar-coat it! There'll be bitter eating provided day after to-morrow!"
He waited a moment, recovering from sudden passion.
"Ah," he said, gentle once more, "that sounds like senile raving. Pardon me. But while I've waited for the politicians of this State to show some signs of decency, waiting in vain, I've been swallowing back a lot of bitterness. No more of it! To our business now. I want you to know what is coming. I depend on you, as I have depended before, to be my master of ceremonies—and rather grim ceremonies they will be. For I have prepared several bills. You will introduce the House measures. I can depend on Senator Borden, from my county, for what I choose to have originate in the Senate. They are bills that will put our party and this State to the test of honesty. It's strange, isn't it, that what sounds so innocent should be so bitter?"