"Meet him?--_him?_ Your pardon, Sir Roderick." He brushed his hand
over his eyes, but they were dull again. . . . "No, thank you"--he
turned to the Chairman--"It's only two steps to the car; I don't want
anyone's arm. . . . Well, yes, I'm obliged to you. Queer, how tired
I feel. . . . Good night, gentlemen!"
The car purred and glided away. "I feel a bit uneasy about our
Candidate," said the Chairman as we watched the rear-light turn the
corner. "He's had a shock. . . . Well, we live in stirring times,
and one more evening's over!"
"But it isn't!" I cried out on a sudden thought. "Man, we've
forgotten the reporters! If they've left the building the whole town
will be red before we're well out of our beauty-sleep."
We made a plunge back for the hall and, as luck would have it, found
three of the four reporters at the table. The early close had left
them ahead of time, and two were copying out their shorthand while
the third was engaged on a pithy paragraph or two under the headline
of "Stormy Proceedings--A Professor Ejected. What happens to Dogs in
the Silversmiths' College?"
I won't say how we prevailed with the Fourth Estate, except that it
wasn't by bribery.
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