And that's only _one_ thing!"
"I know what I will do," insisted the rebel.
The Duke took him by his two shoulders.
"So do I," he returned. "You'll have a bath, a shave, four hot towels,
and a big bromo-seltzer--all in the morning, and you'll go into the
State Convention and stick by the party, just as you always have done.
But as for to-night--why, Phon, I wouldn't be surprised to see you
pledge yourself to Arba Spinney."
He gayly shoved the man to one side and went on.
"Well, even Fog-horn is getting more votes corralled than you old blind
mules realize!" shouted the other after him. "This party is sick! You're
going to find it out, too!"
"Sick it is, but I reckon here's the doctor," muttered the old man,
hurrying toward the top of the stairs.
General Waymouth had appeared there, Harlan close behind him.
The Duke forestalled those who hastened to greet the veteran. Taking
his arm, he marched him promptly across the corridor and into the rear
room of State Committee headquarters. He locked the door behind them
after Harlan had entered.
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