I'll send a boy to hunt him
up for you. You want your usual suite, I suppose, Mr. McVickar?"
"No; I'm not stopping overnight. Is young Blount here in the hotel?"
"He has just gone up to the fifth floor with some friends of his--Mr.
Anners and his daughter, from Boston. Shall I hold him for you when he
comes down?"
"No; I want to see the senator. Hustle out another boy or two. I can't
wait all night."
It was at this moment that Evan Blount, bearing luggage-checks and going
in search of the house baggageman, missed another incident which might
have drawn him back suddenly to his problem and its unsettled condition.
The incident was the meeting between his father and the railroad
vice-president at the room-clerk's counter. It was neither hostile nor
friendly; on McVickar's part it was gruffly business-like.
"Well, Senator, I'm here," was the follow-up of the perfunctory
hand-shake. "Let's find a place where we can flail it out," and together
the two entered an elevator.
Reaching the floor of the private dining-room suites, the
ex-cattle-king led the way in silence to his own apartments; rather let
us say he pointed the way, since in the march down the long corridor the
two field commanders tramped evenly abreast as if neither would give the
other the advantage of an inch of precedence. In the sitting-room of the
private suite the senator snapped the latch on the door, and pressed the
wall-button for the electric lights.
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