It now suggested a definite course of
procedure, apparently. He crumpled his gloves into a ball and threw them
on the table. There was a hint in that action; the Senator was showing his
determination to handle matters without gloves for the rest of the
evening. "There's one thing about it, Daunt, a man can't do his best in
public concerns till he has freed his mind of his private troubles. You
wait here. I'll be right back."
"Where are you going, Senator?"
"I'm going to regain my self-respect! I'm going to assert myself as master
of my own home. I'm going to tell Stewart Morrison that I have business
with him, and that I'll attend to it in a strictly business office, later,
where he can't insult my friends and abuse my hospitality!"
"Wait a minute! I've had an acute attack of it, too, this evening--the
same ailment, but I'm getting over it. Don't lose your head and your
temper, both at the same time. You're not in the right trim just now to go
against that bullhead. Let's estimate him squarely. That's always my plan
in business." Mr. Daunt plucked a cigar from a box on the table and
lighted up leisurely, soothing himself into a matter-of-fact mood. Corson
waited with impatience, but his politician's caution began to tug on the
bits, moderating the rush of his passion, and he took a cigar for himself.
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