"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.
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