"Turn around. Now, George, brush him."
Merriam sought diligently to remove the ashes from the Mayor's garments. It required vigorous work, for the dust was rubbed deeply into the cloth. Mollie June superintended closely. The Mayor had to turn about several times and raise an arm and then the other arm. He could not make much progress in the regaining of his dignity; and he, no less than Rockwell, was conscious of the fleeing moments. But, glancing again and again at Mollie June, girlishly imperious and intent, he could not as yet muster his brutality for what he saw the next move in his game must be. Rockwell waited serenely in the background, the Ordinance in his hand.
At last the Mayor's broadcloth was fairly presentable. Nothing could be done, of course, with his shirt front.
"Now, George," said Mollie June, "it's your turn. Give me the broom."
"No, no!"
"Give me the broom!" She took it from his hand. "Turn around!"
And with her own hands and in the manner of wifely solicitude she began to dust his collar and lapels.
This was not unpleasant for Merriam, but it prompted the Mayor to take his cue. As he watched his eyes hardened, and in a moment he said:
"You take good care of your husband, don't you, Mrs. Norman?"
"I try to," said Mollie June rather pertly, dusting away. Evidently she had not heard enough to know that Merriam had been found out.