"To-night--for the time being--for now," returned Corson, dwelling on the point as emphatically as he had when he spoke before, "Mayor Morrison seems to be doing very well in all that has been undertaken. I have no statement to make--absolutely no word to say!" He stepped back and allowed the Governor to lead the retreat; His Excellency collided with two of the more persistent news-gatherers. With volleyed "No! Nothing!" he marked time for the thudding of his feet. Apparently Lana had entered into the spirit of that armed truce which, so her father's manner informed her, was merely a rearrangement of the battle-front. She hurried out of the chamber without even a glance in Morrison's direction. Stewart's grim countenance intimidated the reporters; they went away. For a long time the mayor paced up and down the Executive Chamber, his hands clasped behind him. Miss Bunker thumbed the leaves of her note-book, putting on an air of complete absorption in that matter. Mac Tavish studied the mayor's face; Morrison was wearing that expression which indicated a mood strange for him. Mac Tavish had seen it on the master's face altogether too many times since the Morrison had come from the mill in the forenoon. It was not the look he wore when matters of business engrossed him. The old paymaster liked to see Morrison pondering on mill affairs; it was meditation that always meant solution of difficulties, and the solution was instantly followed by a laugh and good cheer. But it was plain that Morrison had not solved anything when he turned to Mac Tavish. "Not much like honest, real business--this, eh, Andy?" "Naething like, sir!" "Doesn't seem to be a polite job, either--politics--if you go in and fight the other fellow on his own ground." "I've e'er hated the sculch and the scalawags!" "Totten calls this a political exigency." "I'll no name it for mysel' in the hearing o' the lass!" "Seems to need a lot of fancy lying when a greenhorn like me starts late and is obliged to do things in a hurry. Gives business methods an awful wrench, Andy!" "Aye!" The old Scotchman was emphatic. "In fact, in a political exigency, according to what I've found out this evening, the quickest liar wins!" He walked to Miss Bunker's side. "You might jot that down as sort of summing the thing up and consider the record closed." "Do ye think it's all closed and that ye're weel out of it?" inquired Mac Tavish, anxiously. "I think, Andy," drawled the mayor, a wry smile beginning to twist at the corners of his mouth, "that I may have the militia and the people and the politicians well out of it, but considering the mess, as it concerns me, myself, I'm only beginning to be good and properly in it." "Ye hae the record, as jotted by the lass, and I heard ye say naething but what was to your credit. And the words o' the high judges! Ye're well backed!"