"Lanigan is a liar!" the city editor yelped. "He has been a two-legged Hurrah-for-Morrison ever since his high-school days. I like a good lie when it's told to help a friend! This one isn't good enough! Stewart Morrison is in that State House like tissue-paper napkins are in Tophet." "But sha'n't I send in what Lanigan says?" "We won't have any room for the joke column in the morning," returned the city editor, hanging up. XVII THE CAPITOL IN SHADOW Capitol Square was choked with men. The gathering was characteristically a mob made up of diverse elements. It was not swayed by a set purpose and a common motive. It was not welded by coherence of intent. Its eddies rushed here or filtered there, according as arguments or protests gained attention by sharp clamor above the continuous diapason of voices. One who was versed in the natures and the moods of mobs would have found that mass particularly menacing by reason of the lack of unanimity. Too many men of the component elements did not know what it was all about! The arguments pro and con were developing animosities that were new, fresh, of the moment, creating factions, collecting groups that were ready to jump into an affray that would enable them to avoid embarrassing explanations of why they were there. A mob of that sort is easily stampeded! Some men who captained the factions did know why they were there! A few of them harangued; others went about, whispering and muttering, inciting malice by their counsel. The scum of that yeasty gallimaufry was on the outskirts. When the Corson limousine rolled into the square and sought to part its way through that scum somebody in the crowd made a proposition that was promptly favored as far as the votes by voices went: "Tip the lapdog kennel upside down!" Chauffeur Wallace met the emergency with quick tactics. He reversed and drove the car backward. The fingers of the attackers slipped from the smooth varnish and the wheels threatened those who tried to grab the running-boards. Men who seized the fender-bar were dragged off their feet. When Coventry Daunt showed a praiseworthy inclination to jump out and whip a few hundred of them, so he declared in his ire, he was pushed back into a corner by his sister. The chauffeur made a long drive in reverse, circling, and then put the car ahead with a rush and they escaped into a side-street. "Wallace, get us home as quick as the good Lord will let you!" Mrs. Stanton's command was hysterically shrill. "Wallace, take the first turn to the left," countermanded the mistress. "Then around the State House to the west portico." "You crazy girl, what--after that--why--what are you trying to do?" demanded Mrs. Stanton, fear making her furious. "I'm trying to get into that building--and I'm going to get in!" "You can't get in! They won't let you in! Lana Corson, you sha'n't endanger our lives again!" "Here, Wallace! This turn!" The driver obeyed.