THE LAST STAND
Barry Wynn awoke the following morning with a confused recollection of
what he had heard behind the big column in the Cosmopolis Hotel. But in
the clear light of day it did not take him long to determine what he
should do. He resolved to tell the story to Mr. Carlton for just what it
was worth.
Immediately after breakfast he hastened to the Capitol, but was
disappointed to learn that the Congressman would not be in his office
until noon. Barry waited until that hour only to find that it would not
be possible for Mr. Carlton to see anyone until later in the day. The
boy was in a fever of impatience by this time. He hardly knew what to
do. He knew that the Committee on Naval Affairs was to meet at three
o'clock and he resolved to stand at the door of the Committee room and
intercept Mr. Carlton as he went into the meeting. It was a minute
after the appointed time when the familiar form of the Congressman came
swinging down the corridor in double-quick time.
"Mr. Carlton! Mr. Carlton!" cried the boy.
"Hello, Barry," responded the statesman, but without stopping.
The young page ran after him and caught him by the sleeve.
"There is something I want to tell you--something important," he panted.
The Congressman slackened his pace without stopping.
"Well, what is it? You must speak quickly. I'm in a mighty big hurry."
"I heard--I heard," gasped Barry, trying to talk and keep pace with his
friends at the same time, "I heard that Mr. Hudson was going to try and
defeat your bill today."
John Carlton laughed.
"I've heard that myself a dozen times. I can't say it's news."
"But they talked it over last night," persisted the boy. "I heard
them--while I was at the hotel."
"I don't doubt it," retorted the other, wearily, "and if I stay here
talking to you any longer they'll cook my goose sure enough."
"But I have more I must tell you. I'm sure--"
"Not now," interrupted Carlton.
With that he hurried into the room where nearly all of the members of
the Committee had assembled. Barry was in despair. He tried to tell his
news and failed. In the meantime Joel Phipps, the clerk, was calling the
roll to ascertain whether a quorum of the Committee was in attendance.
Barry, at his post in the doorway, could see Mr. Carlton flitting about
from one member to another.
While he stood there Felix Conway came along and greeted him cordially.
The sight of that beaming countenance was to the boy like a grateful
rain upon a parched desert. What he had tried to tell the Congressman he
could impart to Conway's receptive ears. Felix listened in silence. At
the conclusion of the narrative he gave a prolonged whistle.
"Did you tell this to John Carlton?" he demanded.
"I tried to, but I couldn't get him to listen."
"Oh. I suppose he was so busy that he didn't know what you were talking
about."
"That's right. I don't think he knew what I meant."
"I wonder how we can reach him?" asked Felix; then almost immediately
answering his own question, he said:
"Thank goodness, he's coming out now."
Carlton was slowly making his way to the door. It was evident from his
looks and his manner that something was wrong. His forehead was drawn
and his eyebrows contracted with a frown. There was a grayish look about
the corners of his mouth. It was rare indeed for this self-contained man
to show such emotion.
"Well," exclaimed Conway, anticipating him, "how are things going? Have
you got your majority of three?"
The Congressman shook his head with a gesture of disgust.
"No--they've got Curwood. I was sure he was with me last night, but he
tells me now that he is going to vote against the bill."
"But that still leaves you a majority of one."
Carlton wagged his head again.
"It would if all my supporters were here--but one's away."
"Who is he?"
"Warrington."
Conway slapped Barry on the back.
"That proves your story, my boy."
"What story?" asked Carlton, quickly.
"The story Wynn was trying to tell you when you went into the meeting."
He smiled in a melancholy way.
"I was so distracted that I didn't really know what Barry was trying to
say."
Prompted by the journalist, the page boy himself repeated what he had
heard in the hotel lobby the night before. As he concluded, Conway
exclaimed:
"What do you think of that?"
"I'm fighting a resourceful crowd," admitted Carlton, sorrowfully.
Before he had finished the sentence, Conway had rushed over to a
telephone booth and had the receiver at his ear. He was back in a
minute, his face flushed.
"I've had Warrington's apartments. His housekeeper tells me that he went
to Wynnwood this morning. He told her he would take dinner there and
return in time for the meeting of your Committee this afternoon. Barry,"
he concluded, "get me a suburban timetable."
Quickly the page boy returned with a railroad schedule. Conway looked it
over feverishly. He gave a groan.
"What's the matter?" asked Carlton.
"There's only one train out of that one-horse town this afternoon."
"I guess one train is sufficient to carry Warrington," retorted Carlton,
with forced gaiety.
"Yes," said the other, dropping the timetable with a gesture of
disgust, "but it won't leave Wynnwood until half-past four. That means
that he can't get here until after five o'clock."
"What does that mean?" asked the Congressman, anxiously.
"It means that your bill is beaten unless you can have it amended
tomorrow."
"That's out of the question," admitted the other, "tomorrow is the last
day of the session, and it will be a physical impossibility to have the
general bill reopened for changes of any kind."
"Do you believe in Warrington?" asked the journalist.
"As I believe in myself. He's careless, but he's as true as steel. He's
gone away in the full belief that he would get back in time. I'd stake
my life on his loyalty."
"When will the Committee reach your bill?"
"By four o'clock at the latest. There are only two bills ahead of it."
"How long will it take to dispose of it?"
"I should say it will either be passed or killed by half-past four."
Conway shook his fist at an imaginary foe.
"The rascals! They've timed it perfectly."
"How?"
"Warrington will only be taking the train for Washington at that time."
Conway paced the width of the corridor two or three times. Suddenly he
paused, a look of resolution in his eyes.
"Is debate restricted to the Committee?" he asked, unexpectedly.
"No."
"Then, by Jove, I think I have it. It's only a chance in a thousand, but
it's worth trying."
During the next few minutes the journalist showed the latent
possibilities that reposed beneath his placid exterior. He hustled Barry
to his rooms for certain papers. Joe Hart, who happened along, was
hurried off on another errand. All the while Conway was talking in
quick, jerky, excited whispers to John Carlton. Barry and Joe returned
about the same time, loaded down with reports and pamphlets. These were
placed in the arms of the astonished Congressman.
"Now, Carlton," was the farewell greeting of the correspondent, "I'm
going to take Barry with me. I may need him. Joe Hart will stay here in
case you need his services. In the meantime, good-bye and good luck."
He was off like a flash. John Carlton returned to the Committee room and
silently took his seat. His quiet demeanor surprised Hudson. He looked
for an outbreak of some sort. But, instead the man from Maine sat there
as mute as though he had been deprived of the power of speech.
"Takes defeat better than I expected," whispered Hudson to his neighbor.
"Oh," was the confident rejoinder, "he sees he's up against it and knows
there's no use in making a fight."
The Committee proceeded with its work mechanically. The two bills that
were ahead of the Cleverly measure were taken up in their order. The
sponsor of the first one was about to make some remarks in its favor
when the Chairman said that as there did not appear to be any opposition
to the bill, there was scarcely any need for debate. Carlton was on his
feet at once.
"I think the gentleman should have the privilege of saying what he
pleases."
No one objected, and the legislator proceeded to orate for the space of
fifteen minutes. It was that much time killed. The Committee voted
unanimously to incorporate his measure in the naval programme, which
would afterwards have to go in the general appropriation bill. The
second bill was favorably reported without debate.
The hands of the clock pointed to four when the Committee took up the
Cleverly measure. Carlton made a masterly speech in its favor. But the
speech consumed a half hour, which many of the Committee considered an
insufferably long time. After that Hudson and two of his friends made
short, snappy three-minute speeches against the bill. As the last man
sat down Hudson called for a vote on the proposition.
But Carlton was on his feet, holding aloft a protesting arm.
"One minute, Mr. Chairman," he cried, "I can't permit the remarks of
these gentlemen to go unanswered. It would not be fair to my
constituents to do so. I am told that you propose to defeat this bill.
Very well. But, before you do so, I demand the right to place myself on
record."
Cries of "Hear! hear! Go on" and "Give the man a chance," greeted this
opening.
The Chairman nodded a reluctant consent, and John Carlton began his
speech against time. His desk was piled high with papers, pamphlets, and
books. Thus fortified, he gave the members an exhibition of
old-fashioned, backwoods oratory. Whenever he was at a loss for a new
idea he would reach over, pick up a book and begin to read extracts from
some ancient report. He sketched the art of building navies from its
beginning down to the present era. He read portions of messages from the
great architects of the past and present. Finally, he discussed the
character of naval stations which should be erected by the United States
Government.
The opposition members were becoming restless. Already three quarters of
an hour had been consumed, and they wanted to bring the matter to a
conclusion. They knew that they had the votes and they wanted to defeat
the bill and have done with it.
"I call time," shouted one of them, "the gentleman is talking in the
most trivial manner."
Carlton simulated intense indignation.
"The member is insulting," he shouted.
"I call for a vote," retorted the other.
"That's gag law," declared the member from Cleverly in his most dramatic
style, "and I hope that it will never be said that such law was ever
invoked by this Committee."
The result of this tirade was an extension of time. He talked until his
voice became husky, all the while watching the hands of the clock. They
seemed to crawl around at a snail's pace. But time moves on in spite of
men and mice. Soon the timepiece pointed to ten minutes of five. Carlton
talked on. The hands reached five minutes of five. The statesman
continued his rambling discourse. The clock struck five. At that Hudson
arose in a rage. He could risk no more delay.
"I insist upon an immediate vote," he shouted.
"And I demand a roll call on the request," retorted Carlton.
Everybody knew that this was a dilatory motion. But the purpose was
accomplished. Three or four more minutes were wasted. Then the
inevitable came. The final call of the roll on whether Cleverly was to
have its Naval Repair Station was ordered.
Carlton sank in his seat exhausted. He had come to the end of his
resources. He knew only too well that he was short one vote. Joel
Phipps with his sing-song voice did his work expeditiously. Four-fifths
of the names had been called and Conway had not come with his promised
relief. Carlton gave one last anxious look at the door. No one was in
sight. He gave a sigh--the sigh of a defeated man, and waited in a
perfunctory way for the conclusion of the roll call.