The bellow of voices had settled into a sort of chant of, "Time's
up--time's up!"
Captain Sweetsir had deployed his men across the rotunda behind the
machine-guns.
When he beheld the mayor and the general on the stairs he saluted
nervously. "They're getting ready to use sledge-hammers, sir. Shall I hand
'em the rifle-fire first or let loose with the machine-guns?"
Stewart still held to the general's arm.
Totten hesitated. His face was white and his lips quivered.
Morrison's gaze was set straight ahead, but a twist of his face indicated
that he said something through the corner of his mouth.
The general made his plunge.
"Captain Sweetsir, instruct your men to empty their magazines, assemble
accoutrements, and stand at ease in marching order."
The captain came onto his tiptoes in order to elongate himself as a human
interrogation-point.
"Captain Sweetsir, order your bugler to sound retreat!"
The officer forced an amazed croak out of his throat by way of a command,
and on the hush within the rotunda the clarion of the bugle rang out. It
echoed in the high arches. Its sharp notes cut into the clamor outdoors.
Morrison recognized a voice that was keyed to a pitch almost as high as
the bugle's strains.
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