“Absolutely, my dear Waldemar. But don’t think that I’m not appreciative of your thoughtfulness and that of Mr. Jones.”
“What is the program of the day, Governor?” asked Average Jones.
“Rather a theatrical one. I’m to ride along Harrison Avenue to the reviewing stand, in the old coach-of-state of the Harrison family, a lofty old ark, high as a circus wagon, which has been patched up for the occasion. Just before I reach the reviewing stand, a silk cord is to be handed to me and I am to pull the veil from the great civic statue with that, as, I move on.”
“Then I think that Mr. Waldemar and I will look the ground over. Could we get you by telephone, sir, if necessary?”
“Any time up to seven o’clock.”
“What do you think of the chance of their passing the bill over your veto?” asked Waldemar.
“They are spending money as it has never been spent before,” replied Governor Arthur. “I’ll admit to you, Waldemar, that if I could find any legitimate method of calling Morrison off, I would not scruple to use it. It is, of course, Morrison’s money that we are fighting.”
“Possibly—er—that, too—er—might be done,” drawled Average Jones.
The governor looked at him sharply. “After the Linder affair, Mr. Jones,” said he, “I would follow you far. Call my secretary at any time, if you want me.”
“Now to look over the line of parade,” said Average Jones as he and Waldemar emerged from the hotel.