All-Wool Morrison | Page 6

when he walked.
"Be jing! I've been on the job here at manny a deal of a morn,"
confided Officer Rellihan to Calvin Dow, "but here's the first natural

straight flush r'yal, dealt without a draw." He tagged the Corson party
with estimating squints, beginning with the Governor. "Ace, king,
queen, John-jack, and the ten-spot! They've caught the office, this time,
with a two-spot high!"
Mac Tavish played it pat! "And 'tis the mill rule; it lacks twal' meenutes
o' the hour--and the clock yon on the wall is richt!" Thus referring all
responsibility to the clock, the paymaster dipped his pen and went on
with his figures.
The Governor cross-creased the natural deep furrows in his face with
ridges which registered indignant amazement. "You have lost your wits,
but you seem to have your eyes! Use them!"
"It's the mill rule!"
"But we are not here on mill business!"
"Then it canna concern me."
"Officer, do you know what part of the mill Mayor Morrison is in?"
The Governor turned from Mac Tavish to Rellihan.
"He is nae sic thing as mayor till ten o' the clock and till he cooms here
for the crackin wi' yon corbies!" declared the old paymaster, pointing
derogatory penstock through the wicket at "the crows" who were
ranged along the settees.
Rellihan shook his head.
"Well, at any rate, go hunt him up," commanded His Excellency.
Rellihan shook his head again; this seemed to be an occasion where
unnecessary talking fell under interdiction; for that matter, Rellihan
possessed only a vocabulary to use in talking down to the proletariat;
he was debarred from telling these dignitaries to "shut up and sit aisy!"
"A blind man, now a dumb man--Colonel Shaw, go and hunt up the
man we're here to see!"

The colonel feigned elaborately not to hear.
"And finally a deaf one! Take off those ear-tabs! Go and bring the
mayor here!"
Mac Tavish dropped from his stool, armed himself with two
paper-weights, and took up a strategic position near the door which led
into the passage to the mill.
"Roderick Dhu at bay! Impressive tableau!" whispered the young man
of the Corson party in Lana's ear, displaying such significant and
wonted familiarity that Miss Bunker, employing her vigilance
exclusively in the direction in which her fears and her interest lay,
sighed and muttered.
The door of the corridor was flung open suddenly! The staccato of the
orchestra of the looms sounded more loudly and provided entrance
music. Astonishment rendered Mac Tavish hors de combat. He
dropped his weights and his lower jaw sagged.
It was the Morrison--breaking the ancient rule of St. Ronan's--ten
minutes ahead of time!

II
THE THREAT OF WHAT THE NIGHT MAY BRING
All the Morrisons were upstickit chiels in point of height.
Stewart had appeared so abruptly, he towered so dominantly, that a
stranger would have expected a general precipitateness of personality
and speech to go with his looks.
But after he had closed the door he stood and stroked his palm slowly
over his temple, smoothing down his fair hair--a gesture that was a part
of his individuality; and his smile, while it was not at all diffident, was
deprecatory. He began to roll down the sleeves of his shirt.

There was the repressed humor of his race in the glint in his eyes; he
drawled a bit when he spoke, covering thus the Scotch hitch-and-go-on
in the natural accent that had come down to him from his ancestors.
"I saw your car arrive, Senator Corson, and I broke the sprinting
record."
"And the mill rule!" muttered Mac Tavish.
"It's only an informal call, Stewart," explained the Senator, amiably,
walking toward the rail.
"And you have caught me in informal rig, sir!" He pulled his coat and
waistcoat from the hooks and added, while he tugged the garments on,
"So I'll say, informally, I'm precious glad to see old neighbors home
again and to know the Corson mansion is opened, if only for a little
while."
"Lana came down with the servants a few days ago. I couldn't get here
till last evening. I have some friends with me, Stewart, who have come
along in the car to join me in paying our respects to the mayor of
Marion."
Morrison threw up the bar of the rail and stepped through. He clutched
the hand of the Senator in his big, cordial grip. "And now, being out in
the mayor's office, I'll extend formal welcome in the name of the city,
sir."
He looked past the father toward the daughter.
"But I must interrupt formality long enough to present my most
respectful compliments to Miss Corson, even walking right past you,
Governor North, to do so!" explained Stewart, marching toward Lana,
smiling down on her.
Their brief exchange of social