Lawyer Despeaux, giving critical attention, was not ready to affirm that
Morrison's gait was that of a man who had broken a bank. But the manner in
which he marched, shoulders back and chin up, and the dabs of color on his
cheeks, would have suggested to a particularly observant person that the
mayor had broken something. He pushed past those who addressed him and
went on toward the ballroom, staring straight ahead; the music was pulsing
in the ballroom; he seemed to be thoroughly entranced by the strains; at
any rate, he was attending strictly to the business of going somewhere! He
passed Senator Corson, who was returning to the reception-hall; the mayor
gave his host only a nod.
While the Senator stood and gazed at the precipitate young man, Banker
Daunt, following on Morrison's trail, arrived in front of Corson.
Lawyer Despeaux stepped from the window embrasure to get a good view and
was not at all reassured by Daunt's looks. The banker displayed none of
the symptoms of a victor. There was more of choler than complacency in his
air. He hooked his arm inside the Senator's elbow and they went away
together.
"Blanchard," said the lawyer, after a period of pondering, "that infernal
Scotch idiot says that he isn't interested in politics and now he seems to
have put promoting in the same class.
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