not even receive the tap of a single word of remonstrance.

It promised only another day like the others, with nothing that hinted at
a climacteric which would make the affairs of the mill office of the
Morrisons either better or worse.

Then Col. Crockett Shaw marched in, wearing a plug-hat to mark the
occasion as especial and official, but taking no chances on the dangers of
that unwonted regalia in frosty January; he had ear-tabs close clamped to
the sides of his head.

Mac Tavish took heart. He hated a plug-hat. He disliked Col. Crockett
Shaw, for Shaw was a man who employed politics as a business. Colonel Shaw
was carrying his shoulders well back and seemed to be taller than usual,
his new air of pomposity making him a head thrust above the horde. Colonel
Shaw offensively banged the door behind himself. Mac Tavish removed a
package of time-sheets that covered a pile of paper-weights. Colonel Shaw
came stamping across the room, clapping his gloved hands together, as if
he were as cold under the frosty eyes of Mac Tavish as he had been in the
nip of the January chill outdoors.

"Mayor Morrison! Call him at once!" he commanded, at the wicket.

Mac Tavish closed his hand over one of the paper-weights. He opened his
mouth.

But Colonel Shaw was ahead of him with speech! "This is the time when that
fool mill-rule goes bump!" The colonel's triumphant tone hinted that he
had been waiting for a time like this. His entrance and his voice of
authority took all the attention of the other waiters off their own