"Now, you put me in the United States Senate, or I'll put you where the penal code provides! What are you going to do about it?"
Broderick swelled with anger.
"I'm going to call your bluff, Murgatroyd!" he yelled. "You can't work me! And you don't dare touch me, either! Why, there ain't a man in this whole State who dares to lay a hand on me! By George, I call your bluff!"
Murgatroyd sat at his desk and pressed a button; the door opened and two men entered.
"Mixley, McGrath," said Murgatroyd, picking up some rectangular slips of paper from his desk and passing them over to them, "Chairman Peter Broderick is going to leave this room inside of thirty seconds——"
"You bet I am!" Broderick interposed.
"There are ten warrants for his arrest," went on the prosecutor; "take him into custody the instant he leaves this room."
"'Right, Chief!" the men replied in chorus, and, facing about, left the room.
"Now, Broderick," said Murgatroyd, "you called my bluff—you may go."
The politician strode to the door angrily, blustering, but with his hand on the knob, he paused. A new situation was confronting him—a thing imminent, concrete. To cross the threshold meant a blow; Broderick crept back to Murgatroyd.