Out of the hands of their recognized lieutenants A. O. and G. had taken the matter of serving them. Into the hands of this obscure and loutish Solon who was ostensibly pledged to their enemies, they had thrust their commission, and now with the clock creeping forward toward adjournment, he meant to talk the charter measure to death by holding the floor until the opportunity for a vote had elapsed.
Tediously and inanely he meandered along, and no one knew what he was talking about. In extravagant metaphor and florid simile he indulged himself—and the clock worked industriously, an ally not to be unduly hurried.
“Gentlemen of the Senate—” he drooled, “most of us have been raised in a land that knows little of the primitive features that make up life with us, and though it may not at first seem germane or pertinent, I want you to go with me as your guide, while I try to make you see the life of those steep counties that are affected by the measure before you; counties that lie behind the barriers and sleep the ancient sleep of the forgotten.”
Men yawned while his tediousness spun itself into a tawdry flow of slow words, but the Honorable Mr. Chew talked on.
“Many the day, as a lad, have I lain by a rushing brook,” he declaimed, “where the water gushes with the sparkle of sunlit crystal and watched the deer come down on gingerly lifted feet to drink his fill. Now I reckon mighty few of you gentlemen have seen a deer come down to drink——”
The minute hand of the clock, in comparison with this windy deliberation seemed to be racing between the dial characters.
“In God’s name,” exclaimed Spurrier, “isn’t there any way to shut that fool up? He’s ruining us. Get some of our leaders up here, Wharton. We’ve got to stop him.”
“How?” demanded Wharton with a fallen jaw.
“I don’t give a damn how! Kill him—buy him. Anything!”