"So far as I can see, it is legislation which we ought to have had long
ago, and tends to compel a publicity in corporation affairs that is much
needed, to put a stop to practices which every decent citizen deplores."
He drew the paper out of my hand.
"You needn't go on, Paret," he told me. "It's no use."
"Well, I'm sorry we don't agree," I said, and got up. I left him twisting
the paper in his fingers.
Beside the clerk's desk in the Potts House, relating one of his
anecdotes, I spied Colonel Varney, and managed presently to draw him
upstairs to his room. "What's the matter?" he asked.
"Do you know a man named Krebs in the House?" I said.
"From Elkington? Why, that's the man the Hutchinses let slip
through,--the Hutchinses, who own the mills over there. The agitators put
up a job on them." The Colonel was no longer the genial and social
purveyor of anecdotes. He had become tense, alert, suspicious. "What's he
up to?"
"He's found out about this bill," I replied.
"How?"
"I don't know. But someone told him that it originated in our office, and
that we were going to use it in our suit against the Ribblevale."
I related the circumstances of my running across Krebs, speaking of
having known him at Harvard. Colonel Varney uttered an oath, and strode
across to the window, where he stood looking down into the street from
between the lace curtains.
"We'll have to attend to him, right off," he said.
I was surprised to find myself resenting the imputation, and deeply. "I'm
afraid he's one of those who can't be 'attended to,'" I answered.
"You mean that he's in the employ of the Ribblevale people?" the Colonel
inquired.
"I don't mean anything of the kind," I retorted, with more heat, perhaps,
than I realized. The Colonel looked at me queerly.
"That's all right, Mr. Paret. Of course I don't want to question your
judgment, sir. And you say he's a friend of yours."
"I said I knew him at college."
"But you will pardon me," the Colonel went on, "when I tell you that I've
had some experience with that breed, and I have yet to see one of 'em you
couldn't come to terms with in some way--in some way," he added,
significantly. I did not pause to reflect that the Colonel's attitude,
from his point of view (yes, and from mine,--had I not adopted it?) was
the logical one. In that philosophy every man had his price, or his
weakness. Yet, such is the inconsistency of human nature, I was now
unable to contemplate this attitude with calmness.
"Mr. Krebs is a lawyer. Has he accepted a pass from the Railroad?" I
demanded, knowing the custom of that corporation of conferring this
delicate favour on the promising young talent in my profession.
"I reckon he's never had the chance," said Mr. Varney.
"Well, has he taken a pass as a member of the legislature?"
"No,--I remember looking that up when he first came down. Sent that back,
if I recall the matter correctly." Colonel Varney went to a desk in the
corner of the room, unlocked it, drew forth a black book, and running his
fingers through the pages stopped at the letter K. "Yes, sent back his
legislative pass, but I've known 'em to do that when they were holding
out for something more. There must be somebody who can get close to him."
The Colonel ruminated awhile. Then he strode to the door and called out
to the group of men who were always lounging in the hall.
"Tell Alf Young I want to see him, Fred."
I waited, by no means free from uneasiness and anxiety, from a certain
lack of self-respect that was unfamiliar. Mr. Young, the Colonel
explained, was a legal light in Galesburg, near Elkington,--the Railroad
lawyer there. And when at last Mr. Young appeared he proved to be an oily
gentleman of about forty, inclining to stoutness, with one of those
"blue," shaven faces.
"Want me, Colonel?" he inquired blithely, when the door had closed behind
him; and added obsequiously, when introduced to me, "Glad to meet you,
Mr. Paret. My regards to Mr. Watling, when you go back.
"Alf," demanded the Colonel, "what do you know of this fellow Krebs?"
Mr. Young laughed. Krebs was "nutty," he declared--that was all there was
to it.
"Won't he--listen to reason?"
"It's been tried, Colonel. Say, he wouldn't know a hundred-dollar bill if
you showed him one."
"What does he want?"
"Oh, something,--that's sure, they all want something." Mr. Young
shrugged his shoulder expressively, and by a skillful manipulation of his
lips shifted his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other without
raising his hands. "But it ain't money. I guess he's got a notion that
later on the labour unions'll send him to the United States Senate some
day. He's no slouch, either, when it comes to law. I can tell you that."
"No--no flaw in his--record?" Colonel Varney's agate eyes sought those of
Mr. Young, meaningly.
"That's been tried, too," declared the Galesburg attorney. "Say, you can
believe it or not, but we've never dug anything up so far. He's been too
slick for us, I guess."
"Well," exclaimed the Colonel, at length, "let him squeal and be d--d! He
can't do any more than make a noise. Only I hoped we'd be able to grease
this thing along and slide it through the Senate this afternoon, before
they got wind of it."
"He'll squeal, all right, until you smother him," Mr. Young observed.
"We'll smother him some day!" replied the Colonel, savagely.
Mr. Young laughed.
But as I made my way toward the State House I was conscious of a feeling
of relief. I had no sooner gained a front seat in the gallery of the
House of Representatives when the members rose, the Senate marched
gravely in, the Speaker stopped jesting with the Chaplain, and over the
Chaplain's face came suddenly an agonized expression. Folding his hands
across his stomach he began to call on God with terrific fervour, in an
intense and resounding voice. I was struck suddenly by the irony of it
all. Why have a legislature when Colonel Paul Varney was so efficient!
The legislature was a mere sop to democratic prejudice, to pray over it
heightened the travesty. Suppose there were a God after all? not
necessarily the magnified monarch to whom these pseudo-democrats prayed,
but an Intelligent Force that makes for righteousness. How did He, or It,
like to be trifled with in this way? And, if He existed, would not His
disgust be immeasurable as He contemplated that unctuous figure in the
"Prince Albert" coat, who pretended to represent Him?
As the routine business began I searched for Krebs, to find him presently
at a desk beside a window in the rear of the hall making notes on a
paper; there was, confessedly, little satisfaction in the thought that
the man whose gaunt features I contemplated was merely one of those
impractical idealists who beat themselves to pieces against the forces
that sway the world and must forever sway it. I should be compelled to
admit that he represented something unique in that assembly if he had the
courage to get up and oppose House Bill 709. I watched him narrowly; the
suggestion intruded itself--perhaps he had been "seen," as the Colonel
expressed it. I repudiated it. I grew impatient, feverish; the monotonous
reading of the clerk was interrupted now and then by the sharp tones of
the Speaker assigning his various measures to this or that committee,
"unless objection is offered," while the members moved about and murmured
among themselves; Krebs had stopped making notes; he was looking out of
the window. At last, without any change of emphasis in his droning voice,
the clerk announced the recommendation of the Committee on Judiciary that
House Bill 709 ought to pass.
Down in front a man had risen from his seat--the felicitous Mr.
Truesdale. Glancing around at his fellow-members he then began to explain
in the impressive but conversational tone of one whose counsels are in
the habit of being listened to, that this was merely a little measure to
remedy a flaw in the statutes. Mr. Truesdale believed in corporations
when corporations were good, and this bill was calculated to make them
good, to put an end to jugglery and concealment. Our great state, he
said, should be in the forefront of such wise legislation, which made for
justice and a proper publicity; but the bill in question was of greater
interest to lawyers than to laymen, a committee composed largely of
lawyers had recommended it unanimously, and he was sure that no
opposition would develop in the House. In order not to take up their time
he asked: therefore, that it be immediately put on its second and third
reading and allowed to pass.
He sat down, and I looked at Krebs. Could he, could any man, any lawyer,
have the presumption to question such an obviously desirable measure, to
arraign the united judgment of the committee's legal talent? Such was the
note Mr. Truesdale so admirably struck. As though fascinated, I continued
to gaze at Krebs. I hated him, I desired to see him humiliated, and yet
amazingly I found myself wishing with almost equal vehemence that he
would be true to himself. He was rising,--slowly, timidly, I thought, his
hand clutching his desk lid, his voice sounding wholly inadequate as he
addressed the Speaker. The Speaker hesitated, his tone palpably
supercilious.
"The gentleman from--from Elkington, Mr. Krebs."
There was a craning of necks, a staring, a tittering. I burned with
vicarious shame as Krebs stood there awkwardly, his hand still holding
the desk. There were cries of "louder" when he began; some picked up
their newspapers, while others started conversations. The Speaker rapped
with his gavel, and I failed to hear the opening words. Krebs paused, and
began again. His speech did not, at first, flow easily.
"Mr. Speaker, I rise to protest against this bill, which in my opinion is
not so innocent as the gentleman from St. Helen's would have the House
believe. It is on a par, indeed, with other legislation that in past
years has been engineered through this legislature under the guise of
beneficent law. No, not on a par. It is the most arrogant, the most
monstrous example of special legislation of them all. And while I do not
expect to be able to delay its passage much longer than the time I shall
be on my feet--"
"Then why not sit down?" came a voice, just audible.
As he turned swiftly toward the offender his profile had an eagle-like
effect that startled me, seemingly realizing a new quality in the man. It
was as though he had needed just the stimulus of that interruption to
electrify and transform him. His awkwardness disappeared; and if he was a
little bombastic, a little "young," he spoke with the fire of conviction.
"Because," he cried, "because I should lose my self-respect for life if I
sat here and permitted the political organization of a railroad, the
members of which are here under the guise of servants of the people, to
cow me into silence. And if it be treason to mention the name of that
Railroad in connection with its political tyranny, then make the most of
it." He let go of the desk, and tapped the copy of the bill. "What are
the facts? The Boyne Iron Works, under the presidency of Adolf Scherer,
has been engaged in litigation with the Ribblevale Steel Company for some
years: and this bill is intended to put into the hands of the attorneys
for Mr. Scherer certain information that will enable him to get
possession of the property. Gentlemen, that is what 'legal practice' has
descended to in the hands of respectable lawyers. This device originated
with the resourceful Mr. Theodore Watling, and if it had not had the
approval of Mr. Miller Gorse, it would never have got any farther than
the judiciary committee. It was confided to the skillful care of Colonel
Paul Varney to be steered through this legislature, as hundreds of other
measures have been steered through,--without unnecessary noise. It may be
asked why the Railroad should bother itself by lending its political
organization to private corporations? I will tell you. Because
corporations like the Boyne corporation are a part of a network of
interests, these corporations aid the Railroad to maintain its monopoly,
and in return receive rebates."
Krebs had raised his voice as the murmurs became louder. At this point a
sharp-faced lawyer from Belfast got to his feet and objected that the
gentleman from Elkington was wasting the time of the House, indulging in
hearsay. His remarks were not germane, etc. The Speaker rapped again,
with a fine show of impartiality, and cautioned the member from
Elkington.
"Very well," replied Krebs. "I have said what I wanted to say on that
score, and I know it to be the truth. And if this House does not find it
germane, the day is coming when its constituents will."
Whereupon he entered into a discussion of the bill, dissecting it with
more calmness, with an ability that must have commanded, even from some
hostile minds, an unwilling respect. The penalty, he said, was
outrageous, hitherto unheard of in law,--putting a corporation in the
hands of a receiver, at the mercy of those who coveted it, because one of
its officers refused, or was unable, to testify. He might be in China, in
Timbuctoo when the summons was delivered at his last or usual place of
abode. Here was an enormity, an exercise of tyrannical power exceeding
all bounds, a travesty on popular government.... He ended by pointing out
the significance of the fact that the committee had given no hearings; by
declaring that if the bill became a law, it would inevitably react upon
the heads of those who were responsible for it.
He sat down, and there was a flutter of applause from the scattered
audience in the gallery.
"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?"