"It's not legal!" he cried. "And it won't stand. I can prove that I was prevented by foul means--by foul means," he repeated, "from exercising my charter right of veto. I'll take out an injunction, and I'll fight it to the Supreme Court. And in the process all Chicago--the whole United States--shall be entertained with the piquant story of these young people"--he waved a hand towards Merriam and Mollie June,--"aided and abetted by Mr. Reformer Rockwell. I'll ruin them, and you and your League, whatever else comes of it. Oh, you're a clever lot, you--you reformers!"
He paused out of breath. Then, dramatically, for he was always self-conscious and inclined to pose:
"Madame and gentlemen!"--but the effectiveness of his bow was somewhat marred by the sorry state of his shirt front--"I wish you a very good evening!"
But Rockwell was before him with his back to the hall door.
"You've forgotten your hat, Mayor," he said.
(In fact, his tall hat still stood on the writing table where he had set it down before he spread out the Ordinance there to write his veto.)
"Damn my hat! Let me go!"
"Presently, presently. I still think you'd better sign the Ordinance."
"Do you mean to knock me down again?"
"I'd like nothing better, you--cad!" cried Merriam, who had stood bursting with outrage a minute longer than he could endure.