He gave several telegrams into the hand of his
employer.
"Pardon me, gentlemen!" apologized the Senator, tearing open an envelope.
"Wait a moment, North. These messages may bear on the situation."
He read them in silence one after the other, his face betraying nothing of
his thoughts.
He stacked the sheets on the table. "Evidently several notable gentlemen
in our state rise early, read the newspapers before breakfast, and are
handy to telegraph offices," he remarked, leveling steady gaze at Stewart.
"These telegrams are addressed to me, but by good rights they belong to
you, Mister Mayor, I'm inclined to believe."
There was irony in the Senator's tone; Morrison offered no reply.
"They're all of the same tenor, North," explained Senator Corson. "I'm
bracketed with you. You'll probably find some of your own waiting at the
State House for you. And more to come!"
"Well, what are they--what are they?"
"Compliments for the sane, safe, and statesmanlike way we handled a crisis
and saved the good name of the state."
"Now, Morrison," raged the Governor, "you can begin to understand what
kind of a damnable mess you've jammed me into along with Corson, here!
That steer of a policeman will blab, that Scotchman will snarl, and that
loose-mouthed girl will babble!"
"Governor, I haven't resented anything you have said to me, personally.
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