All-Wool Morrison

of contemporary American life the curtain goes

y of Marion-the c

ded, anxious, and expectant season of plot and

of St. Ronan's Mill

ly in the possession of his son Stewart, the unalterable rule was that "The Morrison" entered the factory at seven o'clock in the morning

c and ran into the mill office of the Morrisons through the big door, and Paymaster Andrew Mac Tavish rapped the elephant on the trunk with a pens

y clearer light than to state that old Andrew, at seventy-two, was obeying Stewart's orders as to the ten-o'clock rule and was just as consistently a Cerberus as he had

t office, in a position where he could rap the knuckles of those who should attempt to grab and selfishly exploit "The People's White Coal," as he called water-power. These latter appertaining qualifications were interesting enough, but his undeviating observance of the mill rule of the Morrisons of St. Ronan's served

usual, he was in the mill

d framed in the wicket of his desk, and the style of his beard

ng one big room; a narrow, covered passage connected the room

abbed pointed glances beyond the rail and curled his lips and made his whiskers bristl

ttered; it was a sort of ominous, canine silence, covering a han

ng. It was just as well that the taciturn Mac Tavish considered that his general principle of cautious reserve applied to this situation as it did to matters of business in general, otherwise the explosion through that wicke

nly real vacation he had taken in half a dozen years-and the city of Marion took advantage of a good man, so Mac Tavish asserted, to shove him into the job of mayor; and a brass band was at the station to meet the mayor and the howling mob lugged him into City Hall just as he was, mackinaw jacket, jack-boots, wool

d it for the master, in the way of outward malevolence and inner seething. The regular joke in Marion was built around the statement that i

as in his mind that the occasion would come when Stewart Morrison finally reached the limit of endurance and, with the Highland chieftain's battle-cry of the old clan, started in to clear the off

they were there to bother a mayor, not to help the woolen-goods business. There was old Hon. Calvin Dow, a pensioner of David Morrison, now passed on to the considerately befriending Stewart, and Mac Tavish was deeply disgusted with a man who was so impractical in his business affairs that, though he had been financially busted for ten years, he still kept along in the bland belief, based on Stewart's assurances, that money was due him from the Morrisons. W

that would make this the day of days, and there seemed to be no excuse that would furnis

Bunker's typewriter furnished obbligato for the chorus of the looms. It was all good music for a business

donia, required presumption to excuse attack

rning the bang of those boots started the old pains to thrusting in Mac Tavish's neck. But Officer Rellihan was the mayor's major-domo, officially, and Stewart's

that hinted at a climacteric which would make the affairs

especial and official, but taking no chances on the dangers of that unwonted re

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 pap

him at once!" he com

over one of the paper-wei

colonel's triumphant tone hinted that he had been waiting for a time like this. His entrance and his voice

he tickit gillie?" The old paymaster jabbed indignant thu

s that he had the ears of all those in the room. He braced back. With an air of a functionary calling on the multitude to make way for royalty he declaimed, "Call His Honor M

ng a puffball on a rat-tail file. "If ye hae coom sunstruck on a January day, ye'd best stick a sopped sponge in the laf

lat of his hand on the l

is time, Mac Tavish. It'

, or into the mi

dy will ye tell him in yer mortal flesh. Make the start to enter the mill, and it's my

ommanded Officer Rellihan, swinging across the roo

Mac Tavish; there was grim satisfaction in the twist of

ide and the colonel is saying he's here to see His Honor. Colonel, ye'll take y

es, were foes, but their team-work in behalf of the

our brains, Rellihan?" de

eturned the policeman, smiling placidly. "And there's nothing the matter with

s to have a United States Senat

r had one c

ll fire you off the fo

nator has to wai

e a new rule to fit the case of Senators, the same will prob'bly be handed to me as soon as Senators are common on the calling-list." He put up a hand in front of the colonel's face-a broad and compelling hand. "Now I'm going a

ool and he clashed glances wi

pheaval in this o

he mill door ye'll not ken of a certain

blank. "Daddy Mac!" Miss Bunker enjoyed that privilege in nomenclature along with other privileges usually won in offices by young ladies who know how to do their work well

ae me orde

the Senator's car went past me. Miss Lana was with him.

wrinkled his nose, already s

may be calling, alo

t th

on calls with her father and is obliged to wait, Mr. Morrison will be mortified. Very likely he will be angry because he wasn

a is served! Use the office for all owt but the wool business. To Auld Hornie wi'

hat if he should still be in love with Miss Lana, spite of

at hame and safe and sensible, the Morrison o' the Morrisons had only to reach his hand to her and say, 'Coom, lass!' But noo that she is back wi' head high and notions alaft, he'd no accept her! She's nowt but a d

nd his paper-weights in spite of what she knew of his threats regarding the use he proposed to make of them in case of need. She believed that Miss Lana Corson would come to the office with the others who were riding in the automobile. She

three times into empty air a dictated letter while Stewart Morrison looked past her in the directi

d up against a handsome young man in an Astrakhan top-coat! Under those circumstances, what view would Miss Lana Corson take of the man who had stayed in Marion? Miss Bunker was profoundly certain that Mac Tavish did not know what love was and never did understand

situation became

he office was flung

he Corso

ptious understrapper and held in leash by an ignorant policeman. They say it's according to a rule of the Morrison mills. I suppose that when Mayor Morrison comes out of th

pled into a ball and it struck Mac Tavish on the side

ing beauty, nor impressed by the United States Senator's dignity, nor won by the charming smile of Miss Corson's well-favored squire, nor daunted by the inq

Excellency, Lawrence North, Governor of the state, marched toward the wicket, wagging his tail, but the wagging was not a display

rst natural straight flush r'yal, dealt without a draw." He tagged the Corson party with estimating squints, beginning with

the hour-and the clock yon on the wall is richt!" Thus referring all responsib

ace with ridges which registered indignant amazement. "You h

he mill

ot here on mi

canna con

hat part of the mill Ma

d from Mac Tav

the crackin wi' yon corbies!" declared the old paymaster, pointing derogatory

shook h

go hunt him up," com

der interdiction; for that matter, Rellihan possessed only a vocabulary to use in talking down

-Colonel Shaw, go and hunt u

igned elaborat

ake off those ear-tabs! Go

two paper-weights, and took up a strategic position

s ear, displaying such significant and wonted familiarity that Miss Bunker, employing her vigil

of the looms sounded more loudly and provided entrance music. Astonishment ren

the ancient rule of St. Ronan