When the House leader and attorney for the Northeastern took his seat, the victory to all appearances was won.  It was a victory for conservatism and established order against sensationalism and anarchy—­Mr. Ridout had contrived to make that clear without actually saying so.  It was as if the Ute Indians had sought to capture Washington and conduct the government.  Just as ridiculous as that!  The debate seemed to be exhausted, and the long-suffering Mr. Doby was inquiring for the fiftieth time if the House were ready for the question, when Mr. Crewe of Leith arose and was recognized.  In three months he had acquired such a remarkable knowledge of the game of parliamentary tactics as to be able, patiently, to wait until the bolt of his opponents had been shot; and a glance sufficed to revive the drooping spirits of his followers, and to assure them that their leader knew what he was about.

“Mr. Speaker,” he said, “I have listened with great care to the masterly defence of that corporation on which our material prosperity and civic welfare is founded (laughter); I have listened to the gentleman’s learned discussion of the finances of that road, tending to prove that it is an eleemosynary institution on a grand scale.  I do not wish to question unduly the intellects of those members of this House who by their votes will prove that they have been convinced by the gentleman’s argument.”  Here Mr. Crewe paused and drew a slip of paper from his pocket and surveyed the back seats.  “But I perceive,” he continued, “that a great interest has been taken in this debate—­so great an interest that since yesterday numbers of gentlemen have come in from various parts of the State to listen to it (laughter and astonishment), gentlemen who hold Federal and State offices. (Renewed laughter and searching of the House.) I repeat, Mr. Speaker, that I do not wish to question the intellects of my fellow-members, but I notice that many of them who are seated near the Federal and State office-holders in question have in their hands slips of paper similar to this.  And I have reason to believe that these slips were written by somebody in room Number Seven of the Pelican Hotel.”  (Tremendous commotion, and craning to see whether one’s neighbour has a slip.  The, faces of the redoubtable three a study.)

“I procured one of these slips,” Mr. Crewe continued, “through a fellow-member who has no use for it—­whose intelligence, in fact, is underrated by the gentlemen in Number Seven.  I will read the slip.

“’Vote yes on the question.  Yes means that the report of the Committee will be accepted, and that the Pingsquit bill will not pass.  Wait for Bascom’s signal, and destroy this paper."’

There was no need, indeed, for Mr. Crewe to say any more than that—­no need for the admirable discussion of railroad finance from an expert’s standpoint which followed to controvert Mr. Ridout’s misleading statements.  The reading of the words on the slip of paper of which he had so mysteriously got possession (through Mr. Hamilton Tooting) was sufficient to bring about a disorder that for a full minute—­Mr. Speaker Doby found it impossible to quell.  The gallery shook with laughter, and honourable members with slips of paper in their hands were made as conspicuous as if they had been caught wearing dunces’ caps.