Now and then Tate nodded solemnly in affirmation of something the governor said, but without lifting his eyes from the pencil. His broad shoulders were bent over the table, and the men about him were reflecting that this was probably an attitude into which his heavy body often relaxed when he was pondering deeply.
Wearying of the pencil—a trifle of the dance-card variety—he dropped it and drew his own from his waistcoat pocket. Then, after looking up to join in a laugh at some indictment of Republicanism expressed in droll terms by the governor, he drew the tablet closer and, turning his head slightly to one side, drew a straight line. Burgess frowned as several men changed position the better to watch him. The silence deepened, and the governor’s voice rose with a slight oratorical ring. Through a half-open window floated the click of billiard balls in the room below. The governor having come down to the Wilson Administration, went back to Cleveland, whom he praised as a great leader and a great president. In normal circumstances there would have been interruptions and questions and an occasional jibe; and ordinarily the governor, who was not noted for loquacity, would not have talked twenty minutes at a stretch without giving an opportunity to his companions to break in upon him. He was talking, as they all knew, to give Tate time to draw the odd device which it was his habit to sketch when deeply engrossed.
The pencil continued to move over the paper; and from time to time Tate turned the pad and scrutinized his work critically. The men immediately about him watched his hand, wide-eyed, fascinated. There was something uncanny and unreal in the situation: it was like watching a wild animal approaching a trap and wholly unmindful of its danger. The square box which formed the base of the device was traced clearly; the arcs which were its familiar embellishment were carefully added. The governor, having exhausted Cleveland, went back to Jackson, and Tate finished a second drawing, absorbed in his work and rarely lifting his eyes.
Seeing that Tate had tired of this pastime, the governor brought his lecture to an end, exclaiming:
“Great Scott, Burgess! Why haven’t you stopped me! I’ve said enough here to ruin me with my party, and you hadn’t the grace to shut me off.”
“I’m glad for one,” said Tate, pushing back the pad, “that I got in in time to hear you; I’ve never known before that any Democrat could be so broad-minded!”
“The governor loosens up a good deal between campaigns,” said Burgess, rising. “And now, let’s go into the library where the chairs are easier.”
The governor rose with the others, but remained by his chair, talking to Tate, until the room cleared, and then resumed his seat.
“This is perfectly comfortable; let’s stay here, Mr. Tate. Burgess, close the door, will you.”
Tate hesitated, looked at his watch, and glanced at Burgess, who sat down as though wishing to humor the governor, and lighted a cigar.