"You really will oblige us greatly, Mrs. Norman," said the Mayor, "if you will withdraw for a moment longer."
"No!" said Mollie June. "This is my room. I have a right to be here. And I don't like scuffling."
She cast a disdainful glance at their crumpled shirts and dusty trousers. And, womanlike, she sought a diversion.
"What a mess you are in!" she cried. "Mr.--George,--get the whisk broom from the bedroom there!"
It was an almost haughty command. And Merriam rejoiced to obey this new mistress of the situation. He darted into the bedroom.
The two older men looked at each other. Rockwell was content: time was passing. When the Mayor started to speak he forestalled him.
"She's really right," he said. "You can't leave like this. And some one might come in."
Merriam was back with the whisk broom.
"Come under the light," ordered Mollie June, addressing the Mayor.
That dignitary reluctantly advanced.