“No,” responded Peabody; “he has already promised Langdon to recognize him, and the President of the Senate cannot be persuaded to break his word.  I am painfully aware of this fact.”

But Stevens was not yet dissuaded from the hope of defeating the junior Senator from Mississippi by wit alone.

“Can we not have a speaker get the floor before Langdon and have him talk for hours—­tire out the old kicker—­and await a time when he leaves the Senate chamber to eat or talk to some visitor we could have call on him, then shove the bill through summarily?” he suggested.

“I’ve gone over all that.” answered Peabody, quickly.  “It would only be delaying the evil hour.  You wouldn’t be able to move that old codger away from the Senate chamber with a team of oxen—­once he gets to his seat.  His secretary, Raines—­another oversight of yours, Stevens”—­the latter winced—­“will warn him.  Langdon would stick pins through his eyelids to keep from falling asleep.”

“I’ve been thinkin’,” put in Steinert, slowly, “that a little fine-esse like this might keep him away:  When Langdon’s in his committee room before goin’ to the Senate send him a telegram signed by one of his frien’s’ name that one of his daughters is dyin’ from injuries in a automobile collision a few miles out o’ town.  That ’ud—­”

“Ridiculous,” snorted Peabody.  “He’d know where they were.  They’re always—­”

“Huh! then put in more fine-esse.”

“How?  What?”

“Hev some ’un take ’em out a-autoin’—­”

“No, no, man!” snapped Peabody.  “They’d stick in town to hear their father’s wonderful speech.”

“Well,” went on the lobbyist, “I’ll hev Langd’n watched by a careful picked man, a nigger that won’t talk.  He’ll pick a row with the Colonel on some street, say, w’en he’s comin’ from his home after lunch.  The coon kin bump into Langd’n an’ call him names.  Then w’en ole fireworks sails into ‘im, yellin’ about what ’e’d do in Mississippi, the coon pulls a gun on the Colonel an’ fires a couple o’ shots random.  Cops come up, an’ our pertickeler copper’ll lug Langd’n away as a witness, refusin’ to believe ’e’s a Senator.  I kin arrange to hev him kept in the cooler a couple o’ hours without gettin’ any word out, or I’ll hev ‘im entered up as drunk an’ disorderly.  He’ll look drunk, he’ll be so mad.”

“But the negro—­how could you get a man to undergo arrest on such a serious charge, attempted murder!” exclaimed Stevens.

“There, there,” said Steinert, patronizingly; “coons has more genteel home life in jail than they does out.  An’ don’t forget the District of Columbia is governed by folks that ain’t residents of it, only durin’ the session.  Th’ politicians don’t leave their frien’s in the cooler very long.  Say, Senator Stevens, are you kiddin’ me?  Is it any different down in your—­”

The Mississippian choked and spluttered over a gulp of unusually hot coffee, and Peabody again decided Steinert to be on the wrong tack.