When Bradley made his great speech on the railroad question, arraigning monopoly, the Judge had a special arrangement with a stenographer. He was going to have that speech in pamphlet form to distribute, if it took a leg. He was already planning a congressional campaign.
Ida sat in the balcony on the day he spoke for woman's suffrage, and he could not resist the temptation of looking up there as he spoke. Everything combined to give great effect to his speech. It was late in the afternoon and the western sun thrust bars of light across the dim chamber which the fresh young voice of the speaker had hushed into silence. Ida had sent a bunch of flowers to his desk and upon that bouquet the intrusive sun-ray fell, like something wild that loved the rose, but as the speaker went on it clambered up his stalwart side and rested at last upon his head as though to crown him with victory.
But defeat came as usual. The legislators saw nothing in the sun-ray except a result of negligence on the part of the door-keeper. They all cheered the speech, but a majority tabled the matter as usual. The galleries cheered and the women swarmed about the young champion, Ida among them. Her hand-shake and smile was his greatest reward.
"Come and see me," she said. "I want to thank you."
The Judge was immensely proud of him. "A great speech, Brad; if I wasn't so old-fashioned and set—you'd have converted me. In private I admit all you say, but it ain't policy for me to advocate it just now."
"Policy! I'm sick of policy!" cried Bradley. "Let's try being right awhile."
The Judge changed the subject. He told the members at the boarding-house that it wouldn't hurt Bradley's chances. "People won't down a man on that point any more."
"Perhaps not in your county, but I don't want to experiment down in my county," said Major Root, of MacIntosh.
"I don't believe the people of Iowa will down any man for stating what he believes is right."
"Don't bet too high on that," said the Major in final reply.