"We've got a _man_ to follow now, Mr. Thornton, not a political effigy nor a howl on two legs! I was down there hiding myself. I hadn't stomach for either of the others."
There had been a brief silence outside. Then the band struck up _Hail to the Chief_, and the uproar broke out once more.
"That's our tune, and they don't know it yet!" cried the Senator, gayly. "Let's have the benefit of that to spice our little celebration, now and here!" He started for the window to open it, but General Waymouth put out his hand and checked him. He had stood up to receive their handclasps.
"One moment, Senator," he entreated. "I have a word to say for myself now. You have just come from Room 40. Have they finished drafting the platform?"
The Duke nodded to Harlan, and the young man arose. "Tell Wasgatt I want him to come down here with the resolutions," he directed.
And while he was gone there was no conversation in the parlor. It might have been because the band was playing too loudly; it might have been because General Waymouth's visage, grave, stern, almost forbidding, rather dampened the recent cordiality of the gathering.
When Committeeman Wasgatt came into the room in tow of Harlan Thornton he found silence prevailing there. It was silence that was marked by a little restraint. The band outside was quiet now. A human voice was bellowing. It was Arba Spinney's voice--a voice without words.
Wasgatt, short, stout, habitually pop-eyed and nervous, clutched his papers in one hand and held his eyeglasses at arm's-length in the other.
The others were in their chairs now, ranged about the sides of the room. The General, alone, was standing near the table. Wasgatt turned to him after a rapid scrutiny of the make-up of the party.
"I'd like to have the resolutions read," remarked the General, quietly.
"Go ahead, Wasgatt," commanded Presson; and the committeeman advanced to the table under the chandelier and began to read.
The preamble was after the usual stereotyped form; the first sections endorsed the cardinal principles of the party, and Mr. Wasgatt, getting into the spirit of the thing, began to deliver the rounded periods sonorously. General Waymouth leaned slightly over the table, propping himself on the knuckles of his one hand. The light flowed down upon his silvery hair, his features were set in the intentness of listening.