He started to come in, but Harlan barred the doorway with body and arms.
"Do you want any of these gentlemen inside, General?" he asked.
"Neither Mr. Presson, nor Mr. Thornton, nor any of the rest," declared
Waymouth. "And I want that disturbance at my door stopped."
"You hear that!" cried the defender of the pass. "Now, Mr. Presson, if
you intend to disgrace this convention by a riot, it's up to you to
start it." And then the choler and the hot blood of his youth spoke. He
did not pick his words. His opinion of them was seething within him. He
talked as he would talk to a lumber-crew. "I'm keeping this door, and
I'm man enough for all the pot-bellied politicians you can crowd into
this corridor. And if there's any more hammering here, I'll step out and
show you."
He slammed the door, locked it, and set his shoulders against the
panels.
"Luke, keep away," counselled Thelismer. "The boy is just plain
lumber-jack at the present moment, and he's a hard man in a scrap. We
can't afford to have a scene."
"They're going to turn wrongside-out that wad of cotton batting with two
ounces of brains wrapped in it!" raved the State chairman.
Pages:
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318