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.