“Bad politics, my boy! Bad politics!” said Judge Dana, his head wagging with reprehension, but a malicious twinkle in his somnolent eyes.
Cassius Kimball set a friendly hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “Pretty shrewd of old Martin, eh?” he observed. “But we can square that, among us. Let me know what you want The Journal to do.”
Jeremy nodded his gratitude, but did not move. Laurens was the man he wanted to see, to set himself right before. Moreover, with him as leader a counter-stroke could be planned to bring Embree to his senses. The viking form strode toward him.
“Mr. Laurens,” began Jeremy, “I want—”
“Stand out of my way!” warned the magnate, and swerving not an inch from his stride, he jostled the other aside. But for Kimball’s quick interposition Jeremy’s fury would have launched him upon the insulter.
“Steady!” soothed that experienced diplomat. “You come outside with me, and cool off.”
“No,” said Jeremy, mastering himself. “I’ve got to wait. I’ve got to see the Governor.”
“But has he got to see you?” inquired the other suggestively.
“He has,” said Jeremy with grim positiveness. Governor Embree had closeted himself with Wanser, Bausch, and Fliess. He sent out word that he would see Mr. Robson in half an hour.
Jeremy telephoned to Andrew Galpin to hold the editorial page make-up open. He strolled to the window and got an unpleasant shock. Montrose Clark, Judge Dana, and Nicholas Milliken were standing in earnest conference, near one of the park benches. The Socialist, the public utilitarian grafter, and the legal manipulator! It came back to Jeremy’s mind that, according to Galpin, there was a leak of information from The Guardian office to the Fenchester Public Utilities Corporation. Milliken was perhaps the go-between, unlikely though such an association might seem, at first thought. He would speak to Galpin about it. Meantime he had another editorial to outline, and set about it, seated at the table across which the first real action of the war in Centralia had just been fought to an indeterminate result.