Before shutting the door Morrison reached into the gloom behind him and
pulled in a soldier.
Stewart had put off his evening garb. He wore a business suit of the
shaggy gray mixture that was one of the staples among the products of St.
Ronan's mill. His matter-of-fact attire was not the only element that set
him out in sharp contrast among the claw-hammers and uniforms in the room;
he was bubbling with undisguised merriment; Corson, Daunt, and the
Governor were sullenly anxious; even the young soldier looked flustered
and frightened.
"I have brought along Paul Duchesne so that you may have it from his own
mouth! Go ahead, Duchesne! Let 'em in on the joke! Gentlemen, get ready
for a laugh!" Stewart set an example for them by a suggestive chuckle.
"Your arrival in the State House seems to have been attended by
considerable of a demonstration," commented Senator Corson, recovering
himself sufficiently to indulge in his animosity. "Judging from your
success in starting other riots this evening, I ought to have guessed that
you were in the neighborhood."
"My arrival had nothing whatever to do with the demonstration, Senator. Go
on, Duchesne!"
"I jomped myself," stammered the soldier, a particularly crestfallen
Canuck.
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