Betty went to the Senate Gallery that afternoon for the first time in
several days. It was hard work to keep up with the calling frenzy of
Washington and cultivate one's intellect at the same time. There was no
one in the private gallery but an old man with a hayseed beard and
horny hands. He sat on the first chair in the front row, but rose
politely to let Betty pass; and she took off her veil and jacket and
gloves and settled herself for a comfortable afternoon. She felt almost
as much at home in this family section of the Senate Gallery as in her
own room with a copy of the Congressional Record in her hand. Sometimes
save for herself it would be empty, when every other gallery, but the
Diplomats', of that fine amphitheatre would be nearly full. It was
crowded, however, when it was unofficially known that a favourite
Senator would speak, or an important bill on the calendar provoke a
debate. Leontine no longer accompanied her mistress; she had threatened
to leave unless exempted from political duty.
To-day a distinguished Senator on the other side of the Chamber was
attacking with caustic emphasis a Republican measure. He was the only
man in the Senate with a real Uncle Sam beard. Senator Shattuc's waved
like a golden fan from his powerful jaw; but the Democratic appendage
opposite was long and narrow, and whisked over the Senator's shoulder
like the tail of a comet, when he became heated in controversy. It was
flying about at a great rate to-day, and Betty was watching it with
much interest, when a proud voice remarked in her ear,--
"That's my Senator, marm. He's powerful eloquent, ain't he?"