All-Wool Morrison | Page 4

effect was like impaling a puffball on a
rat-tail file. "If ye hae coom sunstruck on a January day, ye'd best stick
a sopped sponge in the laft o' yer tar-pail bonnet. Sit ye doon and speir
the hands o' the clock for to tell when the Morrison cooms frae the
mill."
The colonel banged the flat of his hand on the ledge outside the wicket.
"It isn't an elephant this time, Mac Tavish. It's a United States Senator.
Act on my orders, or into the mill I go, myself!"
The old man slid down from the stool, a paperweight in each hand.
"Only o'er my dead body will ye tell him in yer mortal flesh. Make the
start to enter the mill, and it's my thocht that ye'll tell him by speeritual
knocks or by tipping a table through a meejum!"
"Lay off that jabber, old bucks, the two of ye!" commanded Officer
Rellihan, swinging across the room. "I'm here to kape th' place straight
and dacint!"
"I hae the say. I'll gie off the orders," remonstrated Mac Tavish; there
was grim satisfaction in the twist of his mouth; it seemed as if the day
of days had arrived.
"On that side your bar ye may boss the wool business. But this is the
mayor's side and the colonel is saying he's here to see His Honor.
Colonel, ye'll take your seat and wait your turn!" He cupped his big
hand under the emissary's elbow.
Mac Tavish and Rellihan, by virtue of jobs and natures, were foes, but
their team-work in behalf of the interests of the Morrison was
comprehensively perfect.

"What's the matter with your brains, Rellihan?" demanded the colonel,
hotly.
"I don't kape stirring 'em up to ask 'em, seeing that they're resting aisy,"
returned the policeman, smiling placidly. "And there's nothing the
matter with my muscle, is there?" He gently but firmly pushed the
colonel down into a chair.
"Don't you realize what it means to have a United States Senator come
to a formal conference?"
"No! I never had one call on me."
"Rellihan, Morrison will fire you off the force if it happens that a
United States Senator has to wait in this office."
The officer pulled off his helmet and plucked a card from the
sweatband. "It says here, 'Kape 'em in order, be firm but pleasant, tell
'em to wait in turn, and'--for meself--'to do no more talking than
necessary.' If there's to be a new rule to fit the case of Senators, the
same will prob'bly be handed to me as soon as Senators are common on
the calling-list." He put up a hand in front of the colonel's face--a broad
and compelling hand. "Now I'm going along on the old orders and the
clock tells ye that ye have a scant twinty minutes to wait. And if I do
any more talking, of the kind that ain't necessary, I'll break a rule. Be
aisy, Colonel Shaw!" He resumed his noisy promenade.
Mac Tavish was back on the stool and he clashed glances with Colonel
Shaw with alacrity.
"There'll be an upheaval in this office, Mac Tavish."
"Aye! If ye make one more step toward the mill door ye'll not ken of a
certainty whaur ye'll land when ye're upheaved."
After a few minutes of the silence of that armed truce, Miss Bunker
tiptoed over to Mac Tavish, making an excuse of a sheet of paper
which she laid before him; the paper was blank. "Daddy Mac!" Miss

Bunker enjoyed that privilege in nomenclature along with other
privileges usually won in offices by young ladies who know how to do
their work well and are able to smooth human nature the right way. She
went on in a solicitous whisper. "We must be sure that we're not
making any office mistake. This being Senator Corson!"
"I still hae me orders, lassie!"
"But listen, Daddy Mac! When I came from the post-office the
Senator's car went past me. Miss Lana was with him. Don't you think
we ought to get a word to Mr. Morrison?"
"Word o' what?" The old man wrinkled his nose, already sniffing what
was on the way.
"Why, that Miss Lana may be calling, along with her father."
"What then?"
"Mr. Morrison is a gentleman, above all things," declared the girl,
nettled by this supercilious interrogation. "If Miss Corson calls with her
father and is obliged to wait, Mr. Morrison will be mortified. Very
likely he will be angry because he wasn't notified. I understand the
social end of things better than you, Daddy Mac. I think it's my duty to
take in a word to him."
"Aye! Yus! Gude! And tell him the music is ready, the flowers are here,
and the tea is served! Use the office for