“Well, I may not be very late. I’ve got an appointment with the Persian Ambassador—Haroun al Raschid,” said he, and looked at each of us defiantly.
We pleaded, but in vain. Without Mr. Taggart we had not a majority. What could we do? We discussed it while we walked home in the crisp afternoon air. There was no Persian ambassador in America, but a chargé d’affaire, and his name was not Haroun al Raschid, but Ali Kuli Kahn. We smiled at Mr. Taggart’s transparency, but we were alarmed. Our Amendment hung on Mr. Taggart’s presence.
Suppose after all he did intend to consult Persia on some matter of moment to Kansas? To leave no loop-hole unguarded, Mary Gertrude Fendall next morning at nine o’clock took a taxi to the Persian legation and left it on the corner. At ten o’clock she was to ring the bell, ask for Mr. Taggart, drive him in haste to the Capitol and deposit him in the midst of our majority. As she walked up and down, however, the problem became acute, for how could she get him out of the legation when he did not go in? At last, ringing the bell, seeing one attaché and then another, she became convinced that nothing was known of the Kansas Congressman in the Persian legation, so she telephoned us at the Capitol.
This confirmed our fears. Every one else was present; Mr. Taggart was not in his office; no one knew where he was. Ten-thirty came; ten forty-five. There was nothing of the vanquished in the faces of our opponents. Mr. Carlin grinned affably at all of us, and the grin chilled us. We looked anxiously from one to another as the meeting began. Ten supporters—ten opponents. Mr. Taggart, wherever he was, had our majority. The minutes dragged. Our friends prolonged the preliminaries. A stranger near me pulled out his watch. I leaned over and asked the time. “Five minutes to eleven.” And just at that moment, looking up, I saw Mr. Taggart in the doorway—Mr. Taggart, very much of a self-satisfied, naughty little boy, smiling triumphantly. That did not matter. Our majority was complete.
The committee went into executive session, and we moved to the anteroom. “A few minutes and you’ll have your Amendment reported out,” said the newspaper men. “It’s all over but the shouting.” The situation was ours. Suffrage was the special order; nothing could be considered before it, and we had a majority. As the moments passed we repeated this, trying to keep up our courage. For time lengthened out. We eyed the door anxiously, starting up when it opened. We caught glimpses of the room. The members were not sitting at their places, they were on their feet, shaking their fists.
“They’re like wild animals,” said one member who came out.
“But what’s happening?” There was no answer. The door closed again.
Slowly we learned the incredible fact. When the door had shut upon us, Mr. Carlin immediately moved that all constitutional amendments be indefinitely postponed.
Now there were many constitutional amendments before that committee, covering many subjects: marriage, divorce, election of judges, a national anthem, prohibition. Mr. Carlin, to defeat us, had thrown them all into one heap. A man could not vote to postpone one without voting to postpone them all. He could not vote against one without voting against them all. Were these men actually adult human beings, legislating for a great nation, for the welfare of a hundred million people?
The motion threw the committee into an uproar. Our friends protested that it could not be considered; Suffrage was the special order of the day. Mr. Moss moved that the Suffrage Amendment be reported out. The chairman ruled this out of order. Now there was a majority in that committee for Suffrage and a majority for prohibition, but they were not the same majority. One of the strongest Suffragists represented St. Louis with its large breweries. If he voted against postponing the Prohibition Amendment he could never again be re-elected from St. Louis. Yet he could not vote to postpone it without postponing Suffrage also.