Vard, let's not have this come up between us at
our time of life. It's bad--it's bad!"
"It _is_ bad," returned the General, quietly; "but not for me! And it's
too late to stop. I'm going through with it, Thelismer."
There was dignity--a finality of decision--that checked further
argument. Thornton shifted gaze from Waymouth to his grandson, started
to say more, snapped his jaws shut, and walked away.
The door of the anteroom afforded a view across the stage. The hour had
arrived. The secretary of the State Committee appeared from the wings
and waited until the delegates were in their seats and quiet. He read
the call, and then the temporary organization was promptly effected, the
tagged delegates popping up here and there and making the motions that
had been entrusted to them.
A clergyman invoked Divine blessing, praying fulsomely and long,
beseeching that the delegates would be guided by the higher will in
their deliberations.
"It's the only prayer I ever find amusing--God pardon me!" whispered the
General at Harlan's side, watching the preliminaries.
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