- willed. The tensity of such a moment could not
long endure. Its contagion spread to Gilman's nerves. The governor's splendid frame seemed to dilate, and Gilman suddenly became conscious that the admiration he had always given the man had never before measured up to the fullness of John Chatham's deserts. It was with relief that he saw the governor's glance turn from Handy to bend on him.
"Gilman," he said, "have a pardon made out for Thomas Whalen."
This answer to Handy's threats was punctuated by a flash from the governor's eyes.
"And Gilman—" the governor continued.
"Yes, sir."
"Wire that woman—what's her name?"
"Barry?"
"Yes—Barry—wire her to come. I think I shall prefer to tell her myself."
Handy dropped, heavy with exhaustion, into his chair. He tried to speak, but had trouble with his articulation. When he mastered his tongue, he could only blurt:
"Now you have done it, haven't you?"
