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The Mayor shook himself, and went over to his telephone; a few minutes later the Chief of Police strolled in, and grinned at the disordered semi-circle of chairs. "Been holdin' a prayer-meetin', Mr. Rowland?" The Mayor was biting his moustache. "Sit down, Chief. I want some advice.... Lord, I wish Barklay wasn't off on his vacation.... Why, I've just had a threat from this Reform League."
Smillie of the Church crowd, old man Fredericks of National Metal know what they handed me today?" "Let her come." The Mayor snorted with disgust. "Hinted if I didn't begin enforcement day after tomorrow they'd appeal to the Governor.... Lord, I wish Barklay was here." The Chief grinned again. "I know what Barklay'd say." "What?" "Give 'em rope." "We-ll ... that's easy enough to say."
He turned to the editorial page and found, as he had imagined, a solid column of opinion; but to his amazement, it made no protest of yesterday's event on the contrary, it echoed Judge Barklay.
He brushed at it with uncertain, ineffective motions, but his eyes never left his nephew. He put the cigar once more to his lips, shuddered, and flung it away. "Boy " he said, at length, "Boy is that true?" Henry cleared his throat. "Yes, Uncle John." "Who is it? Anna Barklay?" "Yes, Uncle John." "When?" "Yesterday afternoon." "Does Judge Barklay know it yet?" "No, not yet. He's out of town."
The spiritual part of him looked down at the material part, and wondered how Henry Devereux could be so white-hot with passion, and yet so calm. What would his friends say now? What would Bob Standish say, and Mr. Archer and Judge Barklay? And what would Aunt Mirabelle not say? This was a grim reflection.
He wouldn't have dared, in view of Mirabelle's opinion, to ask for an injunction on behalf of the League itself, but it had occurred to him that he might arrange the matter privately. But Henry had outstripped him; and furthermore, there was no question of judicial favour. The Judge who had refused the application was no friend of Henry, or of Judge Barklay.
Henry was reminded of what Judge Barklay had twice expressed, and for a casual experiment, he tried to plumb the depths of Mr. Mix's interest. "Oh, with a few new schemes I've got, I guess I'll clean up eleven or twelve thousand this year." Mr. Mix shook his head. "As much as that?" Henry inquired of himself why, to accompany a question which was apparently one of mere rhetorical purport, Mr.
"Make yourself comfortable I shouldn't wonder a bit if these blue-laws weren't going to get just a little bit bleached." On his delirious way to the Orpheum, he stopped in to see Bob Standish, not to share the joke with him, for Judge Barklay had laid great stress on the closest secrecy, but in answer to a recent message asking him to call. "What's the excitement, Bob?"
"Oh, what I said. Say Mix, do you honestly mean all that blood-and-thunder?" Mr. Mix smiled again, and hoped that his expression was taken to be non-committal. To save his life, he couldn't have helped looking towards the corner where Henry and Judge Barklay sat, and his fury and chagrin were multiplied when he saw that they were still affected by humour.
I'm only glad there's some news for the Herald. It was getting so dry you had to put cold cream on it or it'd crack." By the time that Judge Barklay returned from his vacation, the subject had even slipped away from the front page of the newspapers. The flurry was over.
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