Hennion's election to the chairmanship was followed by a meeting in his office that forced a sudden investment in chairs. It was Thursday. Carroll was there; Mayor Beckett, a neatly dressed man with a long neck and close-trimmed black beard, talkative, casuistical, a lawyer by profession; Ranald Cam, President of the Council, solid, grim, rugged, devoid of grammar, grown grey in the game of politics, and for some reason unmatched in his devotion to Wood's memory; John Murphy, saloon-keeper from East Argent, not now in any office, an over-barbered, plastered, and gummy-looking person, boisterous and genial; J. M. Tait, small, thin, dry, of bloodless complexion, sandy hair, and infrequent speech, a lawyer, supposed to represent corporate interests; Major Jay Tuttle, President of the School Board, white-moustached and pompous.
Port Argent's school system was thought too military by the teachers who suffered under it. The Major stood high among Masons and G. A. R.'s. Endless gossip and detail might be given of all these men. Hen-nion knew them well, some of them as far back as he could remember. Each of them held the corner threads of a spreading network of influences and personal interests. In Hennion's office they smoked and discussed. They varied discussion with anecdotes of Wood.
Major Tuttle wanted two of the ward schools enlarged, and offered plans and estimates of competing architects.
"I have given it some consideration," said the Major puffily, and stated considerations.
"Well," Hennion suggested, "why not give one to Smith and one to Hermon, and tell them to compete for glory. It might stir them up."
The North Shore R. R. had put in a large proposition involving a new bridge and station, street crossings, and various rights of way. Tait read a document signed "Wm. R. Macclesfield, President." Hennion suggested that they offer a counter-proposition.
"We don't want any more grade crossings down there. What makes him expect his right of way for a gift?"
"You know what they chipped in this spring?" said Tait, looking up.
"Pretty much. But Wood never sold out that way, did he?" He turned to Ranald Cam.
"Marve Wood ain't never made the city a bad bargain yet," growled Cam, "for all they gas about it." Tait was silent. The others disputed at length on obscure historic points in Wood's policy. The shadowy influence of the "old man" was still so strong in the circle that no one ventured to put any doubt on the guiding wisdom of whatever he had done. They only disputed points of fact.
