He pulled out his watch and started away.
"I'm afraid that I'll have to be going, or I won't be able to get through with my work. If I can ever do anything for you, let me know."
After leaving the Speaker, Barry was presented to the head doorkeeper, who was to be his official superior. He did not waste many words with the boys.
"I suppose you're ready to go to work?"
"Yes," Barry said, "I am."
"Well, start in," he remarked, "and fill and clean the ink wells on the desks of the members."
Barry did not have any false pride, but this took him somewhat by surprise. Joe's talk had given him the impression that he was to be a statesman almost at once, but now he had come down to earth and was to fill ink wells. For the moment his hope of glory went glimmering, but he had the right stuff in him, and he was soon at work carrying out the orders of his chief. He did it well, too. He polished the ink wells until they were spotless, and he made sure not to drop any of the ink on the desks of the members. He was reassured also by the fact that one or two other boys were doing the same work. One of them, he noticed, was doing it very carelessly.
By this time the members began to assemble for the daily session. They strolled in the various doorways, singly and in groups. Some of them went to their desks and began writing; others stood in groups chatting and discussing subjects in which they were interested. The doorkeeper permitted no one to enter except members or specially privileged persons. The clock pointed to a few minutes of twelve. The Speaker ascended to the rostrum and took his seat back of the white marble desk, which was on a platform about four feet above the floor. To the right of his desk was the pedestal which bore the famous mace, the symbol of authority. It was a bundle of black rods bound with bands of silver and surmounted by a silver eagle. Barry was informed by his young friend that the Sergeant-at-Arms, in executing the orders of the Speaker, was required to bear this mace aloft before him.
Glancing up, the new page noticed a number of men coming into a gallery directly over the Speaker's desk. One of them he recognized as Felix Conway, the journalist who had spoken to him so kindly on his first arrival at the Capitol. He guessed directly that this was the press gallery for the reporters who were there to take down the proceedings of the House, and send them out broadcast to the millions of readers of the newspapers all over the United States.