of the traveling public, and hence it is not a matter of surprise that cows so frequently climb aboard that train and among the passengers.
The Senator read his dispatches aloud at the breakfast table. Laura was troubled beyond measure at their tone, and said that that sort of comment would defeat the bill; but the Senator said:
“Oh, not at all, not at all, my child. It is just what we want. Persecution is the one thing needful, now — all the other forces are secured. Give us newspaper persecution enough, and we are safe. Vigorous persecution will alone carry a bill sometimes, dear; and when you start with a strong vote in the first place, persecution comes in with double effect. It scares off some of the weak supporters, true, but it soon turns strong ones into stubborn ones. And then, presently, it changes the tide of public opinion. The great public is weak-minded; the great public is sentimental; the great public always turns around and weeps for an odious murderer, and prays for him, and carries flowers to his prison and besieges the governor with appeals to his clemency, as soon as the papers begin to howl for that man’s blood. — In a word, the great putty-hearted public loves to ‘gush,’ and there is no such darling opportunity to gush as a case of persecution affords.”
“Well, uncle, dear; if your theory is right, let us go into raptures, for nobody can ask a heartier persecution than these editorials are furnishing.”
“I am not so sure of that, my daughter. I don’t entirely like the tone of some of these remarks. They lack vim, they lack venom. Here is one calls it a ‘questionable measure.’ Bah, there is no strength in that. This one is better; it calls it ‘highway robbery.’ That sounds something like. But now this one seems satisfied to call it an ‘iniquitous scheme’. ‘Iniquitous’ does not exasperate anybody; it is weak — puerile. The ignorant will imagine it to be intended for a compliment. But this other one — the one I read last — has the true ring: ‘This vile, dirty effort to rob the public treasury, by the kites and vultures that now infest the filthy den called Congress’ — that is admirable, admirable! We must have more of that sort. But it will come — no fear of that; they’re not warmed up, yet. A week from now you’ll see.”
“Uncle, you and Brother Balaam are bosom friends — why don’t you get his paper to persecute us, too?”
“It isn’t worth while, my daughter. His support doesn’t hurt a bill. Nobody reads his editorials but himself. But I wish the New York papers would talk a little plainer. It is annoying to have to wait a week for them to warm up. I expected better things at their hands — and time is precious, now.”
At the proper hour, according to his previous notice, Mr. Buckstone duly introduced his bill entitled “An Act to Found and Incorporate the Knobs Industrial University,” moved its proper reference, and sat down.
The Speaker of the House rattled off this observation:
“‘Fnobjectionbilltakuzhlcoixrssoreferred!’“
Habitues of the House comprehended that this long, lightning-heeled word signified that if there was no objection, the bill would take the customary course of a measure of its nature, and be referred to the Committee on Benevolent Appropriations, and that it was accordingly so referred. Strangers merely supposed that the Speaker was taking a gargle for some affection of the throat.
The reporters immediately telegraphed the introduction of the bill. — And they added:
“The assertion that the bill will pass was premature. It is said that many favorers of it will desert when the storm breaks upon them from the public press.”
The storm came, and during ten days it waxed more and more violent day by day. The great “Negro University Swindle” became the one absorbing topic of conversation throughout the Union. Individuals denounced it, journals denounced it, public meetings denounced it, the pictorial papers caricatured its friends, the whole nation seemed to be growing frantic over it. Meantime the Washington correspondents were sending such telegrams as these abroad in the land; Under date of —
SATURDAY. “Congressmen Jex and Fluke are wavering; it is believed they will desert the execrable bill.” MONDAY. “Jex and Fluke have deserted!” THURSDAY. “Tubbs and Huffy left the sinking ship last night”
Later on:
“Three desertions. The University thieves are getting scared, though they will not own it.”
Later:
“The leaders are growing stubborn — they swear they can carry it, but it is now almost certain that they no longer have a majority!”
After a day or two of reluctant and ambiguous telegrams:
“Public sentiment seems changing, a trifle in favor of the bill — but only a trifle.”
And still later:
“It is whispered that the Hon. Mr. Trollop has gone over to the pirates. It is probably a canard. Mr. Trollop has all along been the bravest and most efficient champion of virtue and the people against the bill, and the report is without doubt a shameless invention.”
Next day:
“With characteristic treachery, the truckling and pusillanimous reptile, Crippled-Speech Trollop, has gone over to the enemy. It is contended, now, that he has been a friend to the bill, in secret, since the day it was introduced, and has had bankable reasons for being so; but he himself declares that he has gone over because the malignant persecution of the bill by the newspapers caused him to study its provisions with more care than he had previously done, and this close examination revealed the fact that the measure is one in every way worthy of support. (Pretty thin!) It cannot be denied that this desertion has had a damaging effect. Jex and Fluke have returned to their iniquitous allegiance, with six or eight others of lesser calibre, and it is reported and believed that Tubbs and Huffy are ready to go back. It is feared that the University swindle is stronger to-day than it has ever been before.”
Later-midnight:
“It is said that the committee will report the bill back tomorrow. Both sides are marshaling their forces, and the fight on this bill is evidently going to be the hottest of the session. — All Washington is boiling.”
CHAPTER XLIV.
“It’s easy enough for another fellow to talk,” said Harry, despondingly, after he had put Philip in possession of his view of the case. “It’s easy enough to say ‘give her up,’ if you don’t care for her. What am I going to do to give her up?”
It seemed to Harry that it was a situation requiring some active measures. He couldn’t realize that he had fallen hopelessly in love without some rights accruing to him for the possession of the object of his passion. Quiet resignation under relinquishment of any thing he wanted was not in his line. And when it appeared to him that his surrender of Laura would be the withdrawal of the one barrier that kept her from ruin, it was unreasonable to expect that he could see how to give her up.
Harry had the most buoyant confidence in his own projects always; he saw everything connected with himself in a large way and in rosy lines. This predominance of the imagination over the judgment gave that appearance of exaggeration to his conversation and to his communications with regard to himself, which sometimes conveyed the impression that he was not speaking the truth. His acquaintances had been known to say that they invariably allowed a half for shrinkage in his statements, and held the other half under advisement for confirmation.
Philip in this case could not tell from Harry’s story exactly how much encouragement Laura had given him, nor what hopes he might justly have of winning her. He had never seen him desponding before. The “brag” appeared to be all taken out of him, and his airy manner only asserted itself now and then in a comical imitation of its old self.
Philip wanted time