“By God, that’s the only man in the whole place!”

I was aware, for the first time, of a neighbour at my side,—­a solid, red-faced man, evidently a farmer.  His trousers were tucked into his boots, and his gnarled and powerful hands, ingrained with dirt, clutched the arms of the seat as he leaned forward.

“Didn’t he just naturally lambaste ’em?” he cried excitedly.  “They’ll down him, I guess,—­but say, he’s right.  A man would lose his self-respect if he didn’t let out his mind at them hoss thieves, wouldn’t he?  What’s that fellow’s name?”

I told him.

“Krebs,” he repeated.  “I want to remember that.  Durned if I don’t shake hands with him.”

His excitement astonished me.  Would the public feel like that, if they only knew?...  The Speaker’s gavel had come down like a pistol shot.

One “war-hoss”—­as my neighbour called them—­after another proceeded to crush the member from Elkington.  It was, indeed, very skillfully done, and yet it was a process from which I did not derive, somehow, much pleasure.  Colonel Varney’s army had been magnificently trained to meet just this kind of situation:  some employed ridicule, others declared, in impassioned tones, that the good name of their state had been wantonly assailed, and pointed fervently to portraits on the walls of patriots of the past,—­sentiments that drew applause from the fickle gallery.  One gentleman observed that the obsession of a “railroad machine” was a sure symptom of a certain kind of insanity, of which the first speaker had given many other evidences.  The farmer at my side remained staunch.

“They can’t fool me,” he said angrily, “I know ’em.  Do you see that fellow gettin’ up to talk now?  Well, I could tell you a few things about him, all right.  He comes from Glasgow, and his name’s Letchworth.  He’s done more harm in his life than all the criminals he’s kept out of prison,—­belongs to one of the old families down there, too.”

I had, indeed, remarked Letchworth’s face, which seemed to me peculiarly evil, its lividity enhanced by a shock of grey hair.  His method was withering sarcasm, and he was clearly unable to control his animus....

No champion appeared to support Krebs, who sat pale and tense while this denunciation of him was going on.  Finally he got the floor.  His voice trembled a little, whether with passion, excitement, or nervousness it was impossible to say.  But he contented himself with a brief defiance.  If the bill passed, he declared, the men who voted for it, the men who were behind it, would ultimately be driven from political life by an indignant public.  He had a higher opinion of the voters of the state than those who accused him of slandering it, than those who sat silent and had not lifted their voices against this crime.

When the bill was put to a vote he demanded a roll call.  Ten members besides himself were recorded against House Bill No. 709!