While he marched back to the table he
prefaced his arraignment of Morrison by calling him an impudent pup. He
dwelt on that subject with all his power of invective for some minutes.
"I agree with you, Senator," admitted Morrison when Corson stopped to
gather more ammunition of anathema. "But what are you going to do about
it?"
He asked the same question after the Senator had finished a statement of
his opinion on the obstinacy of the lunkhead at the door.
The Senator kept on in his objurgation. But whenever he looked at the door
he found the policeman there, an immovable obstacle.
Whenever Corson looked at Morrison he met everlastingly that hateful
query.
Both the question and the cop were impossible, impassable. Corson found
the thing too outrageously ridiculous to be handled by sane argument; his
insanity in declamation was getting him nowhere.
"There's only one subject before the meeting," insisted Stewart. "We've
got to keep this state from being ashamed of itself when it wakes up
to-morrow morning!"
Somewhere, in some hidden place in the room, a subdued buzzing began and
continued persistently.
The understanding that passed between Corson and North in the glance which
they exchanged was immediate and highly informative, even had the observer
been obtuse.
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