"Do you dare to stand there and intimate that I haven't got principle behind me? Statute law, election law?" Morrison glanced again at the clock; then he tossed a bomb into the argument. "The principle in this instance is a pretty wabbly backing, sir. I'm afraid that even my loyal boys will join the mob if the news gets out about those election returns in certain districts--the returns that were sent back secretly to be corrected." The bomb had all the effect that Morrison hoped for. His Excellency slumped back in his chair and "pittered" his lips wordlessly. "I don't think the news has actually got out among the general public, but it's apt to leak any minute, sir. You can't afford to take chances." "Such slander is preposterous!" Corson asserted. "What used to be done--reviving old stories--I say that our party will not lend its countenance to any such tricks." In his excitement he had dropped an admission as to the past in politics while offering a disclaimer as to the present. "There's no time now for any political discussions," retorted Morrison, curtly. "It's a matter right now of side-tracking a fight. If that fight comes off, Governor North, the truth will come out. And you can't point to a principle in your case as an excuse for bloodshed!" "If a mob attacks this State House there's got to be a fight." "It takes two to make a fight, sir. Order General Totten to march his troops out of the State House. Machine-guns and all! Tell 'em to go home and go to bed." That audacious advice was a second bomb! After a few moments Senator Corson leaped out of his chair, strode across the room, and plucked his coat and hat from the divan. "Come along, Daunt!" he counseled, his voice cracking hoarsely. "Hold on, Senator!" expostulated the Governor. "I need your help!" "I won't allow myself to be mixed into this mess, North. I can't afford to help shoulder the blame where I have not been fully informed. And I won't allow a lunatic to endanger my life. Come on, Daunt, I tell you!" "If you're bound to go, I'll go along, too," proffered the Governor, rising hastily. "This thing can be handled. It's got to be handled. We'll go where this infernal, clattering loom from St. Ronan's mill can't break up a gentlemen's conference." Stewart did not suggest that the gentlemen remain; nor did he offer to go; nor did he plead for a decision. He stood quietly and watched them pull on their overcoats. The Senator led the retreat toward the private door. Morrison dropped the captured bunch of keys into his pocket. Rellihan held his club horizontally in front of him with both hands. "Get out of the way!" yelped Corson. The officer shook his head. "General Totten, open that door." "No chance!" Rellihan growled. North wagged his way close to the barring "fender" and shook an admonitory finger under the policeman's nose. "I'm the Governor of this state! I order you to move away from that door."