"Aha!" cried Howard, "the rabble is caving in. They're ready to quit."
Johnson looked at Sherman as if for confirmation. He shook his head. "Far from it."
"Cannot they state their business in writing?" asked Johnson.
"Send them packing, the damned pork merchants!" Terry said, as if issuing a command.
Again the Governor seemed to hesitate. Again his glance sought Sherman's. "That would be unwise," returned the soldier.
The Governor summoned a clerk. "Ask the committee to put their business in writing!" he ordered. When the man had gone he once more addressed Sherman: "Wool absolutely refuses to provide the militia with arms."
Terry's fist smote the table with a crash. A stream of vituperation issued from his lips. General Wool, the Vigilance Committee and Admiral Farragut were vilified in terms so crude that even the other men surveyed the Chief Justice with distaste.
Sherman turned to the door. "Governor, I've had enough of this," he spoke sharply. "I shall send you my resignation tonight." He went out, leaving Johnson to mutter distressedly. "Never mind," said Terry, "give his job to Volney. He'll drive the damned pork merchants into the sea."
"What about rifles and ammunition?" asked Howard with sudden practicality.
They looked at each other blankly. Then the wily Jones came forward with a shrewd suggestion. "Wool can't refuse you the regular quota of arms for annual replenishment," he said. "Get those by requisition. Ship them down to San Francisco. Reub Maloney is here. He'll carry them down in a sloop."