In spite of John Carlton's peaceful talk, the friends and enemies of the bill seemed determined to stir strife. Some of them went so far as to say that the disappearance of the bill was a bit of trickery which had been engineered by opponents of the Administration, who took this method of punishing the Congressman for his loyalty to the President. Carlton pooh-poohed this, but in spite of his protests, the story was flashing along newspaper row. The whole thing illustrated the astonishing rapidity with which a mere rumor can grow into an accepted fact. It was like a snowball rolling down a hill. It gathered weight and momentum as it proceeded. By nightfall some of the sensational journalists were building up a story of a political war that was to involve the entire United States. Barry missed all of this. He had been sent to Georgetown to obtain some law books for a member of Congress, and he was entirely unaware of the fate that had befallen his beloved bill. Mr. Carlton, in a half amused way, wondered how the boy would feel when he learned the news. He was at dinner in the hotel when one of the newspaper correspondents called on him to inquire whether he would make a statement concerning the great political war. "Certainly," he said. The young man pulled out his pencil and note book. "It will be short," warned the Congressman. "Very well," was the smiling rejoinder, "anything you may say will be of interest." "Rubbish!" said the statesman. The newspaper man looked at him curiously. "Well, I am still waiting," he said. "But I have given you the statement you desired," said Carlton. "What was it?" "Rubbish--that's all." "Do you really mean to put that out as your answer to the charges and innuendos that are floating about Washington?" "That is precisely what I mean. I desire to say neither more nor less. Simply state that Congressman Carlton, when questioned on this matter, said 'Rubbish.'" While Carlton was doing his best to pour oil on the troubled waters, Hudson was, on the other hand, going about sedulously stirring up the angry passions of the legislators. Without making any direct charges, he insinuated that the proposed bill had a significance which it really did not possess. He still felt very sore over the effective manner in which Carlton had blocked the claim which he presented in the House earlier in the session. A big, broad-minded man would have accepted this defeat gracefully, but Hudson was not that type of statesman. He had a grievance and he nursed it, hoping that in the end he would succeed in revenging himself upon the even-tempered Carlton. Carlton was still at the table, placidly eating his dinner, when Felix Conway burst into the room, his face red and his eyes staring. "Sit down, Felix," said Carlton, "and have some dinner with me." "I don't want any dinner. I've had all the dinner I care for." The Congressman smiled. "Then have a plate of ice cream. It may cool you off."