So he's decided to strike."
"Tomorrow, eh!" said Adrian thoughtfully. "That means bloodshed,
probably."
Broderick turned a gloomy countenance toward him. "I don't know," he
answered, and resumed his gazing. Adrian went on. He looked back after
he had gone a hundred yards. The other man remained there, immobile and
silent as a statue.
Governor J. Neely Johnson paced up and down the confines of his suite at
the International Hotel. In a chair sprawled Mayor Van Ness, his fingers
opening and shutting spasmodically upon the leather upholstery. Volney
Howard leaned in a swaggering posture against the mantelpiece, smoking a
big cigar and turning at intervals to expectorate out of one corner of
his mouth.
"Well," said Howard, "the President's turned us down. We get no Federal
aid, I understand. What next?"
Johnson stopped his pacing. "I fancy Coleman will have to answer that
question. Our cue is to wait."
"'He also serves who stands and waits'," quoted Howard sardonically.
There came a knock at the door. Van Ness, arising quickly, answered it.
A uniformed page stood on the threshold bearing a silver platter on
which reposed two letters. Something about the incident again aroused
Howard's sense of humor.
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