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