I can't believe it. Coleman's a good man, a quiet fellow. He's my
friend. I'll go to him at once."
He rose, but Garrison, the politic, raised his hand. "Let him come to
you. Summon him. The effect is much better."
"As you say," acceded Johnson with a smile. "Send for Coleman, with my
compliments." He resumed his seat and picked up an Evening Bulletin,
shaking his head. "Poor King, I hear he's dying."
"A dangerous man," remarked Garrison as he left the room.
"He is a lot less dangerous alive--than dead," the Mayor shivered. "As a
reformer he'd soon have ceased to interest the public. Nobody interests
them long. But as a martyr!" he threw up his hands. "God help San
Francisco!"
They discussed the dangers of a public outbreak till a knock at the door
interrupted them.
It proved to be Garrison, accompanied by the Vigilante chief. "Hello,
Coleman," the Governor greeted, cordially. The two shook hands. "What's
this I hear about your Vigilante recrudescence?" He smote his hands
together with a catechising manner. "What do you people want?"
"We want peace," responded Coleman.
"And, to get it, you prepare for war. What do you expect to accomplish?"
"What the Vigilantes did in '51--"
Briefly and concisely he outlined the frightful condition of affairs in
San Francisco; the straining of public patience to its present
breaking point.
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