The morning dragged past. Twelve o’clock came. Twelve-thirty. One o’clock. The doors opened. We clustered around our supporters and eagerly asked the news.
Well, Carlin got the floor and kept it. He took up the time. It got late and the members were hungry and wanted to go to luncheon, and there would have been a lot of wrangling over the Amendment. So they adopted Carlin’s motion to make Suffrage the special order of business two weeks from today.
“It’s all right,” our friends consoled us. “Only two weeks’ delay!”
But why two weeks? And why had Mr. Carlin, our avowed and bitter enemy, himself made the motion to reconsider, tacking to it the two weeks’ delay, unless something disastrous was planned?
Now began a care and watchfulness over our eleven, in comparison to which all our previous watchfulness and care was as nothing. Not only did we know each man’s mind minutely from day to day, but we had their constituents on guard at home.
Washington’s mail increased. One man said, “I wish you’d ask those Pennsylvania ladies to stop writing me!” Mr. Morgan said, “My secretary has been busy all day long answering letters from Suffragists. Why do you do it? You know I’m for it.” Mr. Neely, at a desk covered with mail, broke forth in wrath, eyes blazing, “Why do you have all those letters written to me as though you doubted my stand? I’m as unchangeable as the Medes and Persians!”
On the 27th of March, the day before the vote, telegrams poured in. We stumbled over messenger boys at every turn in the House office building. Late that afternoon as Anne and I went into Mr. Taggart’s office we passed a postman with a great bundle of special-delivery letters.
Mr. Taggart was last on the list. Every one else was pledged to be at the meeting next day.
“Yes, I’ll be there,” said Mr. Taggart slowly and ominously. “But I’ll be a little late.”
“Late!” We jumped from our seats. “Why, it’s the special order for ten-thirty!”