Capitol Square was choked with men. The gathering was characteristically a
mob made up of diverse elements. It was not swayed by a set purpose and a
common motive. It was not welded by coherence of intent. Its eddies rushed
here or filtered there, according as arguments or protests gained
attention by sharp clamor above the continuous diapason of voices. One who
was versed in the natures and the moods of mobs would have found that mass
particularly menacing by reason of the lack of unanimity. Too many men of
the component elements did not know what it was all about! The arguments
pro and con were developing animosities that were new, fresh, of the
moment, creating factions, collecting groups that were ready to jump into
an affray that would enable them to avoid embarrassing explanations of why
they were there.
A mob of that sort is easily stampeded!
Some men who captained the factions did know why they were there! A few of
them harangued; others went about, whispering and muttering, inciting
malice by their counsel.
The scum of that yeasty gallimaufry was on the outskirts.
When the Corson limousine rolled into the square and sought to part its
way through that scum somebody in the crowd made a proposition that was
promptly favored as far as the votes by voices went: "Tip the lapdog
kennel upside down!"
Chauffeur Wallace met the emergency with quick tactics. He reversed and
drove the car backward. The fingers of the attackers slipped from the
smooth varnish and the wheels threatened those who tried to grab the
running-boards. Men who seized the fender-bar were dragged off their feet.
When Coventry Daunt showed a praiseworthy inclination to jump out and whip
a few hundred of them, so he declared in his ire, he was pushed back into
a corner by his sister.
The chauffeur made a long drive in reverse, circling, and then put the car
ahead with a rush and they escaped into a side-street.
"Wallace, get us home as quick as the good Lord will let you!" Mrs.
Stanton's command was hysterically shrill.
"Wallace, take the first turn to the left," countermanded the mistress.
"Then around the State House to the west portico."
"You crazy girl, what--after that--why--what are you trying to do?"
demanded Mrs. Stanton, fear making her furious.
"I'm trying to get into that building--and I'm going to get in!"
"You can't get in! They won't let you in! Lana Corson, you sha'n't
endanger our lives again!"
"Here, Wallace! This turn!"
The driver obeyed.
Doris set rude hands upon Lana and shook her. "There's nothing sensible
you can do if you do get in!"
"Perhaps not! But my father is there; he has asked me to help and I'm
going to explain to him how I did my best. Doris, I must tell him, so that
he won't get into worse danger by waiting and depending on that idiot of a
sheriff."
"You are the idiot!"
"I may be. But I'm going in there!'
"Coventry, you are sitting like a prune glacé! Help me to prevail on this
girl to use some common sense!"
"You'll help me very much if you'll do some prevailing with your sister,
Coventry," affirmed Miss Corson, resentfully, trying to unclasp the
chaperon's vigorous hands.
"After what has been happening, I don't think Lana needs any more shaking,
Dorrie," the brother remonstrated. "Everything having been well shaken,
it's time to do a little taking. Won't you take some advice, Lana?"
"If it's advice about going home and deserting my father I'll not take
it."
"I was afraid you wouldn't. But do you really think you can get into the
State House?"
The girl did not disclose the discouraging information given to her by
Editor Tasper on the subject of effecting an entrance. "I'm going to try!
And I warn you, Doris, that I'm about at the end of my endurance."
Mrs. Stanton sat back and gritted her teeth.
The car traversed a boulevard; the arc-lights showed that it was deserted.
A narrow street, empty of humankind, led to the west portico. That
entrance, so Lana knew, was used almost wholly by the State House
employees. The door was closed; nobody was in sight.
"If you insist on the venture, I'll go with you, of course," offered the
young man. When the car stopped he stepped out.
"I'm afraid you'll only make it harder for me, Coventry. I know the
captain of the guard. But it will never do for me to bring a stranger."
She hurried into the shadow of the portico. "Get back into the car! You
must! Wallace, drive Mrs. Stanton and Mr. Daunt to the house."
When Coventry protested indignantly she broke in: "I haven't any time to
argue with you. We may be watched. Wait at the corner yonder with the car.
If you see me go in, take Doris home and send the car back. Wallace, I'll
find you down there at the fountain!" She designated with a toss of her
hand the statuary, gleaming in the starlight, and when the car moved on
she ran up the steps of the State House.
The big door had neither bell nor knocker. She turned her back on it and
kicked with the heel of her slipper.
The voice that inquired "Who's there?" revealed that the warder was not
wholly sure of his nerves.
"I am Senator Corson's daughter!"
She received no reply.
"I tell you I am Senator Corson's daughter! I want to come in. My father
is there!"
She was answered by a different voice; she recognized it. It was the
unmistakable drawl and nasal twang of Perley Wyman. Her girlhood memories
of Perley's voice had been freshened very recently because he had been
assigned to the Corson mansion by Thompson the florist as her chief aide
in decorating for the reception. "Wal, I should say he was here--and then
some! This was the door he came in through."
"Open it! Open it at once, Perley Wyman!"
"I dunno about that, Miss Corson! We've got orders about politicians and
mobbers--"
"I'm neither. I command you to open this door."
"Who else is there?"
"I'm alone."
Soldier Wyman pulled the bolts and opened. "I ain't feeling like taking
any more chances with the Corson family this evening," he admitted, with a
grin that set his long jaw awry. "Your father nigh cuffed my head up to a
peak when I tried to tell him what my orders were."
Miss Corson was not interested in the troubles of Guard Wyman. He was
talking through a narrow crack; she set her hands against the door and
pushed her way in. "Where is my father? What trouble is he in?"
"I reckon it can't be any kind of trouble but what he'll be capable of
taking care of himself in it all right," opined the guard, fondling his
cheek with the back of his hand. "But there ain't any trouble in here,
Miss Corson. It's all serene as a canned sardine that was canned for the
siege of Troy, as it said in the opery the High School Cadets put on that
year you was in the--"
"There's a mob in front of the State House!"
"It'll stay there," stated Wyman, remaining as serene as the comestible he
had mentioned. "The St. Ronan's Rifles can't be backed down by any mob. We
have been ordered to shoot, and that kind of a gang in this city might as
well learn its lesson to-night as any other night. It's getting time to do
a lot of law-and-order shooting in this country."
The girl, harrowed by her apprehensions, was not in the mood to discuss
affairs with this amateur belligerent. But his complacency in his
bloodthirsty attitude was peculiarly exasperating in her case. He seemed
to typify that unreasonable spirit of slaughter that disdained to employ
the facilities of good sense first of all. This florist's clerk, whom she
had last seen on a step-ladder with his mouth full of tacks, was talking
of shooting down his fellow-civilians as if there were no other
alternative.
"My father may be in danger in this State House, but I'm glad he is here.
He is not condoning this! He is not allowing this shame! Who is the
lunatic who is threatening my father and bringing disgrace on this state?"
She remembered the Senator's assertion over the telephone and, in her
eagerness for news, she was willing to start with the humble Soldier
Wyman.
She realized suddenly that her spirit of fiery protest was provoking her
into an argument that might seem rather ridiculous if somebody in real
authority should overhear her talking to Wyman and his mate. The portico
door opened into a remote corridor.
"The only lunatic, up to date, Miss Corson, has been a Canuck who had a
knock-down and drag-out with a settee and--"
Lana was not finding Wyman's statement especially convincing in the way of
establishing faith in his sanity. "I thank you for letting me in! I must
find my father."
The interior of the Capitol building was familiar ground to her.
It occurred to her sense of discretion that it might be well to avoid
Captain Sweetsir in his new exaltation as a military martinet. She found a
narrow, curving stairway which served employees.
On the second floor, hastening along the dimly lighted corridors, turning
several corners, she reached the spacious hall outside the Senate lobby.
She paused for a moment. From the hall she could look down the broad, main
stairway which conducted to the rotunda. The rumble of trucks had
attracted her attention. Soldiers were moving a machine-gun; they lined it
up with two others that were already facing the great doors of the main
entrance. She had half hoped that her father was in the rotunda, using his
influence and his wisdom, now that the mob was threatening the building
outside those great doors. She did not understand just how the Senator
would be able to operate, she admitted to herself, but she felt that his
manly advice could prevail in keeping his fellow-citizens from murdering
one another!
In the gloom below her she saw only soldiers and uniformed Capitol
watchmen.
Across from her in the upper hall where she waited there was the entrance
to the wing which contained the Executive Chambers. Two men, one of whom
was talking earnestly, came along the corridor from the direction of the
chambers. Still mindful of what Tasper had said about the State House
rules of that evening, she did not want to take chances with others who
might be less amenable than Florist-Clerk Wyman. There were high-backed
chairs in the corners of the hall; she hid herself behind the nearest
chair. Her dark fur coat and the twilight concealed her effectually.
"General Totten, if you don't fully comprehend your plain duty in this
crisis, you'd better stop right here with me until you do. We can't afford
to have those soldiers overhear. Are you going to order them to march out
of this State House?" This peremptory gentleman was Stewart Morrison!
Lana choked back what threatened to be an exclamation.
"I refuse to take that responsibility on myself."
"You must! Such a command to state troops must come from you, the
adjutant-general."
"This is a political exigency, Mister Mayor!"
"It seems like that to me!"
"It requires martial law."
"But not civil war."
"This building is threatened by a mob."
"That's because you have put it in a state of siege against citizens."
"There's no telling what those men will do if they are allowed to enter."
"They'll do worse if they are kept out by guns."
"It means wreck and rampage if they are permitted to come through those
doors."
"Look here, Totten, this State House has stood here for a good many years,
with the citizens coming and going in it at will. I don't see any dents!"
"This is an exigency, and it's different, sir. The state must assert its
authority."
"I'll not argue against the state and authority with you, Totten, for
you're right and there's no time for argument. But when you said political
exigency you said a whole lot--and we'll let this particular skunk cabbage
go under that name. Don't try that law-and-order and state-authority bluff
with me in such a case as this is. You're right in with the bunch and you
know just as well as I do what the game is this time. Probably those folks
outside there don't know what they want, but they do know that something
is wrong! Something is almighty wrong when elected servants are obliged to
get behind closed doors to transact public affairs. I'm putting this on a
business basis because business is my strong point. These red-tape fellows
go to war and use the people for the goats to settle a matter that could
be settled peaceably by hard-headed every-day men in five minutes. Now
with these few words, and admitting that I'm all that you want to tell me
I am--and confessing to a whole lot more that I personally know about my
unadulterated brass cheek in the whole thing--we'll close debate. Order
those militia boys to march out!"
"I--"
Morrison held a little sheaf of papers in his hand. He flapped the papers
violently under General Totten's nose. "Do you dare to ignore these
telegrams--the opinions of the justices of the supreme judicial court of
this state?"
"I don't--"
The papers flicked the end of the general's nose and he shuffled slowly
backward. "Do you dare, I say?"
"This exigency--"
"That's the name we've agreed on--for a dirty political trick without an
atom of principle behind it. These telegrams will make great reading on
the same page with the list of names in the hospitals and the morgue!"
General Totten was retreating more rapidly, but the vibrating papers
inexorably kept pace with his nose.
"But to leave this State House unguarded--"
"I have already shown you what I can do with one single cop! I gave you a
little lecture on cops in general back yonder. You fully understand how
one cop handled the adjutant-general of a state. I'll answer for the
guarding of this State House. Send away your militia!"
"I'm afraid to do it!" wailed Totten.
"Then you're afraid of a shadow, sir! But I'll tell you what you may well
be afraid of. I'm giving you your chance to save your face and your
dignity. Order away those boys or I'll go and stand on the main stairway
and tell 'em just how they're being used as tools by political tricksters.
And then even your tricksters will land on your back and blame you for
forcing an exposure. I'll tell the boys! I swear I'll do it! And I'll bet
you gold-dust against sawdust that they'll refuse to commit murder.
Totten, this exigency is now working under a full head of steam. You can
hear that mob now! This thing is getting down to minutes, I'll give you
just one of those minutes to tramp down into that rotunda and issue your
orders."
"But what--" The general's tone unmistakably indicated surrender; the
Governor had already shifted the onus; Totten knew his brother-in-law's
nature; the Governor would just as soon shift the odium after such an
explosion as this wild Scotchman threatened.
"You needn't bother about the what, sir. You give the order. And as soon
as the thing is on a business basis I'll tend to it."
Stewart took the liberty of hooking his arm inside the general's. The
officer seemed to be experiencing some difficulty in getting his feet
started. The two hurried along and trudged down the middle of the main
stairway.
Lana followed. She halted at the gallery rail and surveyed the scene
below.
Even in her absorption in the affair between Stewart and the
adjutant-general she had been aware of the rising tumult outside.
The bellow of voices had settled into a sort of chant of, "Time's
up--time's up!"
Captain Sweetsir had deployed his men across the rotunda behind the
machine-guns.
When he beheld the mayor and the general on the stairs he saluted
nervously. "They're getting ready to use sledge-hammers, sir. Shall I hand
'em the rifle-fire first or let loose with the machine-guns?"
Stewart still held to the general's arm.
Totten hesitated. His face was white and his lips quivered.
Morrison's gaze was set straight ahead, but a twist of his face indicated
that he said something through the corner of his mouth.
The general made his plunge.
"Captain Sweetsir, instruct your men to empty their magazines, assemble
accoutrements, and stand at ease in marching order."
The captain came onto his tiptoes in order to elongate himself as a human
interrogation-point.
"Captain Sweetsir, order your bugler to sound retreat!"
The officer forced an amazed croak out of his throat by way of a command,
and on the hush within the rotunda the clarion of the bugle rang out. It
echoed in the high arches. Its sharp notes cut into the clamor outdoors.
Morrison recognized a voice that was keyed to a pitch almost as high as
the bugle's strains. "Hold your yawp! Don't you hear that?" Lanigan
screamed. "Don't you know the difference between that and a fish-peddler's
horn? That's the tune we fellers heard the Huns play just before Armistice
Day. That's retreat! Come on, Legion!" he urged, frantically. "Ram back
those sledge-hammers!"
Morrison grinned and released the general's arm.
"You hear that, do you, sir? When you can convince fair men that you're on
the right slant, the fair men will proceed to show rough-necks where they
get off if they go to trying on the wrong thing!"
"There's going to be the devil to pay!" insisted the adjutant-general.
"You're going to let that mob into the State House, and they'll fight all
over the place."
"We'll see what they'll do after the showdown, sir! And you can't make
much of a showdown in the dark."
He left General Totten on the stairs, leaped down the remaining steps, and
ran to a group of watchmen and night employees of the State House who were
bulwarking the soldiers.
"I'm beginning to see that it's some advantage, after all, to be the mayor
of this city," Stewart informed himself. One of Marion's aldermen was
chief electrician of the Capitol building and was in the group, very much
on duty on a night like that. "Torrey has always backed me in the city
government meetings, at any rate!"
The alderman came out of the ranks, obeying the mayor's gesture.
"Alderman, I'm in the minority here, right now, but I hope you're going to
vote with me for more light on the subject."
Torrey did not understand what this quick shift in all plans signified,
and said so, showing deference to the mayor at the same time.
"If we've got to fight that gang we need these soldiers, Mayor Morrison!"
"Our kind of men, Alderman, fight best in the light; the cowards like the
dark so that they can get in their dirty work. Do you get me? Yes! Thanks!
Excuse me for hurrying you. But get to that switchboard! We need quick
action. You and I represent the city of Marion right now. Must keep her
name clean! I'll explain later. But give 'er the juice! Jam on every
switch. Dome to cellar! Lots of it! Put their night-beetle eyes out with
it."
He was hustling along with Torrey toward the electrician's room. He was
clapping his hand on the alderman's shoulder.
"I'm going outside there, Torrey! Touch up the old dome and give me all
the front lights. If the bricks begin to whiz I want to see who's throwing
'em!"