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.