Then he thought he saw.
"Oh, it's strong-arm work next, is it?"
There was a note of alarm mingled with his irony, and the magnificence of his pose weakened a little. Rockwell was a determined-looking fellow, and there was Merriam to help him, and the Mayor was not really a very brave man. But he went on talking to save his face:
"You certainly are a jewel of a reformer, Rockwell!"
Then he saw a point and quickly recovered his full grandeur.
"I don't quite see how you're going to manage, though. Of course, if it were a case of preventing me from signing, you might do it--the two of you! But signing's rather different, isn't it? You can lead a horse to water---- Of course, you can club me or hold a revolver to my head. But, you see, I know you wouldn't dare to fire a revolver here in this room. So just how will you force my fingers to form the letters? Or perhaps you will try forgery? Is forgery the next act, Mr. Reformer?"
Rockwell smiled. He was in no hurry to reply. Merriam still stood, as he had throughout this unforeseen dialogue, a rigid spectator.
Then, in the moment's silence, very inopportunely, a clock, somewhere outside, struck the hour--a quarter to nine.
Rockwell tried to drown it, saying, "I'm hardly so versatile as that."
But the Mayor had heard and understood.