AS they entered the Senate chamber, Vernon heard the lieutenant-governor say: “And the question is: Shall the resolution be adopted? Those in favor will vote ‘aye,’ those opposed will vote ‘no,’ when their names are called; and the secretary will call the—”

“Mr. President!” Vernon shouted. There was no time now to retreat; he had launched himself on the sea of glory. A dozen other senators were on their feet, likewise demanding recognition.

“The senator from Cook,” said the lieutenant-governor.

Vernon stood by his desk, arranging complacently the documents Miss Greene had given him. Once or twice he cleared his throat and wiped his lips with his handkerchief. The other senators subsided into their seats, and, seeing that they themselves were not then to be permitted to speak, and like all speakers, not caring to listen to the speeches of others, they turned philosophically to the little diversions with which they whiled away the hours of the session—writing letters, reading newspapers, smoking. Vernon glanced around. Maria Greene was sitting precariously on the edge of a divan. Her face was white and drawn. She gave a quick nod, and a smile just touched her fixed lips. And then Vernon began. He spoke slowly and with vast deliberation; his voice was very low. He outlined his subject with exquisite pains, detail by detail, making it clear just what propositions he would advance. His manner was that of the lawyer in an appellate court, making a masterly and purely legal argument; when it was done, the Senate, if it had paid attention—though it seldom did pay attention—would know all about the question of woman-suffrage.

In his deliberation, Vernon glanced now and then at Maria Greene. Her eyes were sparkling with intelligent interest. As if to choose the lowest point possible from which to trace the rise and progress of legislation favorable to women, Vernon would call the attention of the Senate, first, to the decision of the Illinois Supreme Court In re Bradwell, 55 Ill. 525. That was away back in 1869, when the age was virtually dark; and that was the case, gentlemen would remember, just as if they all kept each decision of the court at their tongues’ ends, in which the court held that no woman could be admitted, under the laws of Illinois, to practise as an attorney at law. But,—and Vernon implored his colleagues to mark,—long years afterward, the court of its own motion, entered a nunc pro tunc order, reversing its own decision in the Bradwell case. Vernon dilated upon the importance of this decision; he extolled the court; it had set a white milestone to mark the progressing emancipation of the race. Then, briefly, he proposed to outline for them the legislative steps by which woman’s right to equality with man had been at least partly recognized.

He fumbled for a moment among the papers on his desk, until he found one of the pamphlets Miss Greene had given him, and then he said he wished to call the Senate’s attention to the Employment Act of 1872, the Drainage Act of 1885, and the Sanitary District Act of 1890. Vernon spoke quite familiarly of these acts. Furthermore, gentlemen would, he was sure, instantly recall the decisions of the courts in which those acts were under review, as for instance, in Wilson vs. Board of Trustees, 133 Ill. 443; and in Davenport vs. Drainage Commissioners, 25 Ill. App. 92.

Those among the senators who were lawyers, as most of them were, looked up from their letter writing at this, and nodded profoundly, in order to show their familiarity with Vernon’s citations, although, of course, they never had heard of the cases before.

“This recognition of woman’s natural right,” Vernon shouted, “this recognition of her equality with man, can not be overestimated in importance!” He shook his head fiercely and struck his desk with his fist. But then, having used up all the facts he had marked in Miss Greene’s pamphlets, he was forced to become more general in his remarks, and so he began to celebrate woman, ecstatically. He conjured for the senators the presence of their mothers and sisters, their sweethearts and wives; and then, some quotations fortunately occurring to him, he reminded them that Castiglione had truly said that “God is seen only through women”; that “the woman’s soul leadeth us upward and on.” He recounted the services of women in time of war, their deeds in the days of peace, and in the end he became involved in an allegory about the exclusion of the roses from the garden.

The senators had begun to pay attention to him as soon as he talked about things they really understood and were interested in, and now they shouted to him to go on. It was spread abroad over the third floor of the State House that some one was making a big speech in the Senate, and representatives came rushing over from the House. The correspondents of the Chicago newspapers came over also to see if the Associated Press man in the Senate was getting the speech down fully. All the space on the Senate floor was soon crowded, and the applause shook the desks and made the glass prisms on the chandeliers jingle. The lieutenant-governor tapped from time to time with his gavel, but he did it perfunctorily, as though he enjoyed the applause himself, as vicariously expressing his own feelings; his eyes twinkled until it seemed that, were it not for certain traditions, he would join in the delighted laughter that made up most of the applause.

Once a page came to Vernon with a glass of water, and as he paused to wipe his brow and to sip from the glass, he glanced again at Maria Greene. Her face was solemn and a wonder was growing in her eyes. Beside her sat old “Doc” Ames, scowling fiercely and stroking his long white beard. There were sharp cries of “Go on! Go on!”

But Vernon, not accustomed to thinking on his feet, as talkers love to phrase it, and having stopped, could not instantly go on, and that awkward halt disconcerted him. He was conscious that the moments were slipping by, and there were other things—many other things—that he had intended to say; but these things evaded him—floated off, tantalizingly, out of reach. And so, for refuge, he rushed on to the conclusion he had half formed in his mind. The conclusion was made up mostly from a toast to which he had once responded while in college, entitled “The Ladies.” The words came back to him readily enough; he had only to apply them a little differently and to change his figures. Thus it was easy to work up to a panegyric in which Illinois stood as a beautiful woman leading her sister states up to new heights of peace, of virtue and of concord. He had a rapt vision of this woman, by her sweet and gentle influence settling all disputes and bringing heaven down to earth at last.

The Senate was in raptures.

“This is the face,” he cried, “‘that launched a thousand ships and burned the topless towers of Ilium!' ... 'she is wholly like in feature to the deathless goddesses!’” So he went on. “‘Age can not wither, nor custom stale, her infinite variety.’”

He was growing weary. He already showed the impressive exhaustion of the peroration. He had sacrificed a collar and drunk all the water from his glass. He fingered the empty tumbler for a moment, and then lifted it on high while he said:

“’I filled this cup to one made up

Of loveliness alone,

A woman, of her gentle sex

The seeming paragon—

Her health! and would on earth there stood

Some more of such a frame,

That life might be all poetry,

And weariness a name.’”

When he had done, there was a moment’s stillness; then came the long sweep of applause that rang through the chamber, and while the lieutenant-governor rapped for order, men crowded around Vernon and wrung his hand, as he wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. And then the roll was called. It had not proceeded far when there was that subtile change in the atmosphere which is so easily recognized by those who have acquired the sense of political aeroscepsy; the change that betokens some new, unexpected and dangerous manoeuver. Braidwood had come over from the House. His face, framed in its dark beard, was stern and serious. He whispered an instant to Porter, the Senate leader. Porter rose.

“Mr. President,” he said.

The lieutenant-governor was looking at him expectantly.

“The gentleman from Cook,” the lieutenant-governor said.

“Mr. President,” said Senator Porter, “I move you, sir, that the further discussion of the resolution be postponed until Wednesday morning, one week from to-morrow, and that it be made a special order immediately following the reading of the journal.”

“If there are no objections it will be so ordered,” said the lieutenant-governor.

Bull Burns shouted a prompt and hoarse “Object!”

But the lieutenant-governor calmly said:

“And it is so ordered.”

The gavel fell.