unanimously, and he was sure that
no opposition would develop in the House. In order not to take up their
time he asked: therefore, that it be immediately put on its second and
third reading and allowed to pass.

He sat down, and I looked at Krebs. Could he, could any man, any lawyer,
have the presumption to question such an obviously desirable measure,
to arraign the united judgment of the committee's legal talent? Such
was the note Mr. Truesdale so admirably struck. As though fascinated,
I continued to gaze at Krebs. I hated him, I desired to see him
humiliated, and yet amazingly I found myself wishing with almost equal
vehemence that he would be true to himself. He was rising,--slowly,
timidly, I thought, his hand clutching his desk lid, his voice sounding
wholly inadequate as he addressed the Speaker. The Speaker hesitated,
his tone palpably supercilious.

"The gentleman from--from Elkington, Mr. Krebs."

There was a craning of necks, a staring, a tittering. I burned with
vicarious shame as Krebs stood there awkwardly, his hand still holding
the desk. There were cries of "louder" when he began; some picked up
their newspapers, while others started conversations. The Speaker rapped
with his gavel, and I failed to hear the opening words. Krebs paused,
and began again. His speech did not, at first, flow easily.

"Mr. Speaker, I rise to protest against this bill, which in my opinion
is not so innocent as the gentleman from St. Helen's would have the
House believe. It is on a par, indeed, with other legislation that in
past years has been engineered through this legislature under the guise
of beneficent law. No, not on a par. It is the most arrogant, the most
monstrous example of special legislation of them all. And while I do not
expect to be able to delay its passage much longer than the time I shall
be on my feet--"

"Then why not sit down?" came a voice, just audible.

As he turned swiftly toward the offender his profile had an eagle-like
effect that startled me, seemingly realizing a new quality in the man.
It was as though he had needed just the stimulus of that interruption to
electrify and transform him. His awkwardness disappeared; and if he
was a little bombastic, a little "young," he spoke with the fire of
conviction.

"Because," he cried, "because I should lose my self-respect for life if
I sat here and permitted the political organization of a railroad, the
members of which are here under the guise o