One of Griswold's retinue ran off to summon the prisoner, who was guarded by half a dozen soldiers near at hand.
The company in the bungalow were all laughing heartily at some sally by the adjutant-general of South Carolina, who insisted upon giving a light note to the proceedings, when hurried footsteps sounded on the veranda and a sergeant appeared in the doorway and saluted.
The adjutant-general, annoyed at being interrupted in the telling of a new story, frowned and bade the sergeant produce his prisoner. At once a man was thrust into the room, a tall man, with a short, dark beard and slightly stooping shoulders. The strong light at his back made it difficult for the people grouped about the table to see his face clearly, but the air somehow seemed charged with electricity, and all bent forward, straining for a sight of the captive. As he stood framed in the doorway his face was slowly disclosed to them, and there appeared to be a humorous twinkle in his eyes. Before any one spoke, he broke out in a hearty laugh. Then a cry rose piercingly in the quiet room—a cry of amazement from the lips of Jerry Dangerfield, who had taken a step forward,
"Oh, papa!" she cried.
"The Governor!" roared Colonel Daubenspeck, leaping across the table.
"It's Governor Dangerfield!" shouted half a dozen men in chorus.
At this moment Mrs. Atchison and Miss Barbara Osborne stole softly in and ranged themselves at the back of the room.
The governor of North Carolina alone seemed to derive any pleasure from the confusion and astonishment caused by his appearance. He crossed to the table and took his daughter's hand.
"Jerry, what part do you play in these amateur theatricals?"
Jerry rose, thrusting her handkerchief into her sleeve, and her lips trembled slightly, though whether with mirth or some soberer emotion it would be difficult to say. The room at once gave her attention, seeing that she was about to speak.