David Kent was of this silent army of observation, doing watch-dog duty for the Western Pacific; thankful enough, if the truth be told, to have a thing to do which kept him from dwelling overmuch upon the wreck of his hopes.  But in the closing days of the session, when a despatchful Assembly, anxious to be quit of its task, had gone into night sittings, the anodyne drug of work began to lose its effect.

The Brentwoods had taken furnished apartments in Tejon Avenue, two squares from the capitol, and Kent had called no oftener than good breeding prescribed.  Yet their accessibility, and his unconquerable desire to sear his wound in the flame that had caused it, were constant temptations, and he was battling with them for the hundredth time on the Friday night when he sat in the House gallery listening to a perfunctory debate which concerned itself with a bill touching State water-ways.

“Heavens!  This thing is getting to be little short of deadly!” fumed Crenshawe, his right-hand neighbor, who was also a member of the corps of observation.  “I’m going to the club for a game of pool.  Won’t you come along?”

Kent nodded and left his seat with the bored one.  But in the great rotunda he changed his mind.

“You’ll find plenty of better players than I am at the club,” he said in extenuation.  “I think I’ll smoke a whiff or two here and go back.  They can’t hold on much longer for to-night.”

Five minutes later, when he had lighted a cigar and was glancing over the evening paper, two other members of the corporation committee of safety came down from the Senate gallery and stopped opposite Kent’s pillar to struggle into their overcoats.

“It’s precisely as I wrote our people two weeks ago—­timidity scare, pure and simple,” one of them was saying.  “I’ve a mind to start home to-morrow.  There is nothing doing here, or going to be done.”

“No,” said the other.  “If it wasn’t for House Bill Twenty-nine, I’d go to-night.  They will adjourn to-morrow or Monday.”

“House Bill Twenty-nine is much too dead to bury,” was the reassuring rejoinder.  “The committee is ours, and the bill will not be heard of again at this session.  If that is all you are holding on for——­”

They passed out of earshot, and Kent folded his newspaper absently.  House Bill Twenty-nine had been the one measure touching the sensitive “vested interests”; the one measure for the suppression of which the corporations’ lobby had felt called on to take steps.  It was an omnibus bill put forth as a substitute for the existing law defining the status of foreign corporations.  It had originated in the governor’s office,—­a fact which Kent had ferreted out within twenty-four hours of its first reading,—­and for that reason he had procured a printed copy, searching it diligently for the hidden menace he was sure it embodied.