e rail of the right-hand stage box--for the
town hall was half opera-house; her attitude was one of semi-absorbed
admiration; and the thought that I had made an impression on her
stimulated me. I spoke with more aplomb. Somewhat to my surprise, I found
myself making occasional, unexpected witticisms that drew laughter and
applause. Suddenly, from the back of the hall, a voice called out:--"How
about House Bill 709?"

There was a silence, then a stirring and craning of necks. It was my
first experience of heckling, and for the moment I was taken aback. I
thought of Krebs. He had, indeed, been in my mind since I had risen to my
feet, and I had scanned the faces before me in search of his. But it was
not his voice.

"Well, what about Bill 709?" I demanded.

"You ought to know something about it, I guess," the voice responded.

"Put him out!" came from various portions of the hall.

Inwardly, I was shaken. Not--in orthodox language from any "conviction of
sin." Yet it was my first intimation that my part in the legislation
referred to was known to any save a select few. I blamed Krebs, and a hot
anger arose within me against him. After all, what could they prove?

"No, don't put him out," I said. "Let him come up here to the platform.
I'll yield to him. And I'm entirely willing to discuss with him and
defend any measures passed in the legislature of this state by a
Republican majority. Perhaps," I added, "the gentleman has a copy of the
law in his pocket, that I may know what he is talking about, and answer
him intelligently."

At this there was wild applause. I had the audience with me. The offender
remained silent and presently I finished my speech. After that Mr.
Mecklin made them cheer and weep, and Mr. Mellish made them laugh. The
meeting had been highly successful.

"You polished him off, all right," said George Hutchins, as he took my
hand.

"Who was he?"

"Oh, one of the local sore-heads. Krebs put him up to it, of course."

"Was Krebs here?" I asked.

"Sitting in the corner of the balcony. That meeting must have made him
feel sick." George bent forward and whispered in my ear: "I thought Bill
709 was Watling's idea."

"Oh, I happened to be in the Potts House about that time," I explained.

George, of whom it may be gathered that he was not wholly
unsophisticated, grinned at me appreciatively.

"Say, Paret," he replied, putting his hand through my arm, "there's a
little legal business in prospect