It was a moment long remembered by that breathless crowd. Men, drowning, see their whole lives as in a flashlight's glare. So did Danvers see his past. He was again a boy, embarking on the Far West, and he breathed the wet spring air, blowing over prairie and river. He was with the men on the upper deck, and noted their glances of curiosity. Their youth seemed never to have faded, as he remembered the delicate face of the joyous Latimer, the kind glance of the doctor, the western breeziness of Toe String Joe and the quieter manner of Scar Faced Charlie; while the debonair arrogance of Sweet Oil Bob stirred his fighting blood afresh. Eva Thornhill's beautiful face came, bewitching in its youth, and little Winnie's trusting smile again reached his heart. Even Fort Benton, a busy port of entry, as he first saw it, and Wild Cat Bill's drunken animosity, leaped out as the searchlight of recollection swept the past.
Then Memory's moving picture brought the same faces, shaded or illumined as each temperament exposed its impulse; changed and moulded by hidden thoughts, unexploited forces of character and assimilated environment. Came a sigh for Arthur Latimer, asleep after life's bright beginning and shadowed close. A thought of Eva, broken and undone; of Winifred——
Every thought and act of his life led up to this moment. Could he let this plot be consummated? Not while the blood so pounded in his veins. He must speak—no one else would. Outraged decency demanded. The honor of the state demanded.
He forgot that he was an alien by birth—that he must expose many of his friends; it did not occur to him that he had never made a public speech, that his denunciation would ruin his political future and would be altogether futile. The disgraceful contest had killed his dearest friend—driven the wife into retirement to avoid the glare of scandal, and it was likely to lose him Winifred.
His hand went up, and the President of the Senate recognized him. He rose.
"Mr. President: I rise to a point of personal privilege."
"The Senator from Chouteau," announced the presiding officer of the joint assembly, surprised but courteous. Philip Danvers was not one to be ignored, no matter how inopportune the time. As he stood there for the moment silent, he conveyed the impression of perfect poise, and the honesty and sincerity of his purpose was patent to all.
"Mr. President: In the struggle to elect a United States senator which has lasted this entire session of our legislative assembly, the party with which I have the honor to be affiliated, ever since I foreswore allegiance to my native country, has, unfortunately, never been able to fix on a caucus nominee; and I have been forced, unwillingly, to lead the minority of my party against the man whose name led all others in the last ballot. As a result of the division, the election of a senator has descended to a contest of one individual, with the known antagonism of not only the best element of his party, but the ill will of the whole State, irrespective of party.
"The shameless condition that this has fostered is now familiar to every man in the United States. When that politician, ravenous for his spoil, could not get enough supporters from his own party, he went into the highways and byways of Democrats, Populists and Laborites; he gathered not only the poor and needy, but some few men hitherto possessing apparent respectability, and good standing at home and abroad.
"Personal reasons have kept me silent on the floor of this house, however much I may have worked in other ways against this crime. But the time has come when I must put aside all thought of self in the greater interest of the reputation of Montana.