All-Wool Morrison - Holman Day (sad books to read txt) 📗

minority here, right now, but I hope you're going to vote with me for more light on the subject."
Torrey did not understand what this quick shift in all plans signified, and said so, showing deference to the mayor at the same time.
"If we've got to fight that gang we need these soldiers, Mayor Morrison!"
"Our kind of men, Alderman, fight best in the light; the cowards like the dark so that they can get in their dirty work. Do you get me? Yes! Thanks! Excuse me for hurrying you. But get to that switchboard! We need quick action. You and I represent the city of Marion right now. Must keep her name clean! I'll explain later. But give 'er the juice! Jam on every switch. Dome to cellar! Lots of it! Put their night-beetle eyes out with it."
He was hustling along with Torrey toward the electrician's room. He was clapping his hand on the alderman's shoulder.
"I'm going outside there, Torrey! Touch up the old dome and give me all the front lights. If the bricks begin to whiz I want to see who's throwing 'em!"


XVIII
THE CAPITOL ALIGHT
First of all, within the State House, there was burgeoning of the separate lights of the wall brackets and then the great chandeliers burst into bloom.
Electrician Torrey possessed a quick understanding and was in the habit of doing a thorough job whenever he tackled anything. He threw in the switches as rapidly as he could operate them.
Story by story the great building was flooded with glory that mounted to the upper windows and overflowed into the night with a veritable cascade of brilliancy when the thousand bulbs of the dome's circlet flashed their splendor against the sky. The lamps of the broad front portico and its approaches added the final, dazzling touch to the general illumination.
From a sullen, gloomy hulk of a building, with its few lights showing like glowering eyes in ambush, the State House was transformed into a temple of glory, thrust into the heavens from the top of Capitol Hill, a torch that signaled comforting candor, a reassuring beacon.
The surprise of the happening stilled the uproar.
Neither Morrison, inside, nor the mob, outside, was bothering with the mental analysis of the psychology of the thing!
Something had happened! There was The Light! It threw into sharp relief every upturned face in the massed throng. Their voices remained hushed.
Commander Lanigan, standing above them on a marble rail, his figure outlined against a pergola column, did his best to put some of his emotions into speech. He shouted, "_Some_ night-blooming cereus, I'll tell the world!"
The great doors swung open slowly. They remained open.
Now curiosity replaced astonishment and held the rioters in their tracks; their mouths were wide, the voices mute.
The mayor of Marion walked into view.
The columns of the _porte-cochère_ were supported on a broad base, and he climbed up and was elevated in the radiance high above their heads.
He smiled hospitably. "Boys, it's open house, and the house is yours. Hope you like its looks! But what's the big idea of the surprise party?"
No one took it on himself to reply. He waited tolerantly.
"Well, out with it!" he suggested.
Somebody with a raucous voice ventured. "You probably know what they've been trying to hide away from the people inside there. Suppose you do the talking."
"I'm not here to make a speech."
"Well, answer a question, then!" This was a shrill voice. "What about those soldiers and those machine-guns in there?"
"Not a word!"
With yells, oaths, and catcalls the crowd offered comment on that declaration.
His demeanor as a statue of patience was more effective than remonstrance in quieting them.
"Any other gentlemen wish to offer more remarks? Get it all out of you!"
He utilized the hush. "Boys, I'm going to give you something better than words. Hearing can't always be trusted. But seeing is believing!"
He pulled a police whistle from his pocket and shrilled a signal.
For a time there was no answer or demonstration of any sort.
Then the tramp of marching feet was heard on the pavement of the square.
It was Marion's police force, issuing from some point of mobilization near at hand; it was the force in full strength, led by the chief; he was in dress-parade garb and the radiance of the square was reflected in imposing high-lights by his gold braid.
The crowd was shaken by eddies and was convulsed by quickly formed vortices. Morrison was studying that mob with his keen gaze, watching the movements as they sufficed to reveal an expression of emotions.
"Hold on, boys! Don't run away!" he counseled. "Wait for the big show! No arrests intended! Only cowards and guilty men will run!"
The light that was shed from the State House was pitilessly revealing; men could not hide their movements. Morrison reiterated his promise and dwelt hard on the "coward and guilty" part of his declaration.
The chief of police waved his hand and the crowd parted obediently and the officers marched up the lane, four abreast.
"Hold open that passage as you stand, fellow-citizens!" the mayor commanded. "There's more to this show! You haven't seen all of it! Hold open, I tell you!"
Men whom he recognized as Lanigan's Legion members were jumping in on the side-lines as the policemen passed. With arms extended the veterans held back those whom Morrison's commands were not restraining.
"That's good team-work, Joe," Stewart informed Lanigan when the latter hurried past to take his place as a helper.
The advent of the police had provoked a flurry; their movements after their arrival caused a genuine surprise. They gave no indication of being interested in the crowd that was packed into Capitol Square. The ears of the mob were out for orders of dispersal! Eyes watched to see the officers post themselves and operate according to the usual routine in such matters.
But the policemen marched straight into the State House, preserving their solid formation.
The bugle sounded again within.
With a promptness that indicated a good understanding of the procedure to be followed, the St. Ronan's Rifles came marching out.
Captain Sweetsir saluted smartly as he passed the place where the mayor of Marion was perched.
"How about three cheers for the boys?" Morrison shouted. "What's the matter with you down there?"
He led them off as cheer-leader. He marked the sullen groups, the voiceless malcontents as best he was able. The Legion boys were vehemently enthusiastic in their acclaim.
The guards marched briskly. The machine-guns clanged along the pavement, bringing up the rear.
"That's all!" Stewart declared, when the soldiers were well on their way. "Now you don't need any words, do you? I'll merely state that your State House is open to the people!"
"Like blazes it is," bawled somebody.
He pointed to the open doors, his reply to that challenge.
"How about those cops?" demanded somebody else.
"Your State House is open, I tell you. If you want to go in, go ahead. It's open for straight business, and it will stay open. There are no dark corners for dirty tricks or lying whispers. It's your property. If there's any whelp mean enough to damage his own property, he'll be taken care of by a policeman. That's why they're in there. That's what you're paying taxes for, to have policemen who'll take care of sneaks who can't be made decent in any other way. Some other gentleman like to ask a question?"
Morrison realized that he had not won over the elements that were determined to make trouble. His searching eyes were marking the groups of the rebels.
He directed an accusatory finger at one man, a Marion politician. "Matthewson, what's on your mind? Don't keep it all to yourself and those chaps you're buzzing with!"
Matthewson, thus singled out, was embarrassed and incensed at the same time. "What have they been trying to put over with that militia, anyway?"
"Put protection over state property because such mouths as yours have been making threats ever since election. But just as soon as it was realized that good citizens, like the most of these here, were misunderstanding the situation and were likely to be used as tools of gangsters, out went the militia! You saw it go, didn't you?"
"I'd like to know who did all that realizing you're speaking of!"
"It's not in good taste for an errand-boy of my caliber to gossip about the business of those for whom he is doing errands. I'll merely say, Matthewson, that the people of this state can always depend on the broad-gaged good sense of United States Senator Corson to suggest a solution of a political difficulty. And you may be sure that the state government will back him up. Go down-town and ask the boys of the guard who it was that gave the command for them to leave the State House. After that you'd better go home to bed. That's good advice for all of you."
A shrill voice from the center of the massed throng cut in sharply. "Go home like chickens and wait to have your necks wrung! Go home like sheep and wait for the shearer and the butcher."
The mayor leaned forward and tried to locate the agitator. "Hasn't the gentleman anything to say about goats? He's missing an excellent opportunity!" Morrison showed the alert air of a hunter trying to flush game in a covert.
The provoking query had its effect. "Yes, that's what you call us-all you rulers call us the goats!"
A brandished fist marked the man's position in the mob.
"Ah, there you are, my friend! What else have you on your mind?"
"I'll tell you what you have on your face. You have the mark of an honest man's hand there! I saw him plant that mark!"
"And what's the answer?" asked Stewart, pleasantly.
"You're a coward! You're not fit to advise real men what to do!"
"I'm afraid you have me sized up all too well!" There was something like wistful apology in Morrison's smile.
Lanigan had forced his way close to the foot of the plinth where the mayor was elevated. The commander's head was tipped back, his goggling eyes were full of anguished rebuke, and his mouth was wide open.
The man in the crowd yelped again, encouraged by his distance and by Morrison's passivity under attack. "You think you own a mill. Your honest workmen own it. You are a thief!"
"My Gawd!" Lanigan squawked, hoarsely. "Ain't it in you? Ain't a spark of it in you?"
Morrison delivered sharp retort in an undertone. "Don't you know better than to tangle my lines when I'm playing a fish? Shut up!" He tossed his hand at the individual in the crowd, inviting him to speak further.
"You're a liar, tool" responded the disturber.
"That's a tame epithet, my friend. Commonly used in debate. I'm afraid you're running out of ammunition. Haven't you anything really important to say, now that I'm giving you the floor?"
Men were beginning to remonstrate and to threaten in behalf of the mayor of the city.
"Hold on, boys!" Morrison entreated. "We must give our friend a minute more if he really has anything to say. Otherwise we'll adjourn--"
The bait had been dangled ingratiatingly; a movement had been made to jerk it away--the "fish" bit, promptly and energetically.
"I'll say it--I'll say what ought to be said--I'll shame the cowards here!"
"Let Brother What's-his-name come along, boys! Please! Please!" The mayor stretched forth his arms and urged persuasively. "Keep your hands off him! Let him come!"
"They're going over him for a gat, Mister Mayor," called Lanigan. "I've given 'em one lesson in that line this evening, already!"
The volunteers who were patting the disturber released him. The patting had not been in the way of encouragement. "Nothing