Peabody turned upon him instantly.
"Oh, shut up, Stevens; don't be a fool. Come on in. The water's fine."
The pair of schemers, with Norton at their heels, turned away.
The Pennsylvanian drew Stevens into committee room 6 and, ordering the stenographer to leave, drew up chairs where both could sit, facing the door.
"We've thrown dust in that old gander's eyes," whispered Peabody. "It's now ten after 1. He is to be recognized to make his speech at 3:30. That gives us two hours and twenty minutes—"
"Yes, but for what?" asked Stevens, excitedly. "I've been trying myself to think of something. What will you do—what can you do?"
"The boss of the Senate" smiled patronizingly on the senior Senator from Mississippi, as though amused and scornful of his limitations as a strategist, as a tenacious fighter. Then his jaw set hard, and his brows contracted.
"I will not do anything. I cannot do anything"—he hesitated a full ten seconds—"but Jake Steinert can."
Stevens' hands twitched nervously.
"And," continued Peabody, "I'm expecting a 'phone call from him any moment. I told him this morning that he might be able to make $1,000 before night if—"