"There's only one train out of that one-horse town this afternoon." "I guess one train is sufficient to carry Warrington," retorted Carlton, with forced gaiety. "Yes," said the other, dropping the timetable with a gesture of disgust, "but it won't leave Wynnwood until half-past four. That means that he can't get here until after five o'clock." "What does that mean?" asked the Congressman, anxiously. "It means that your bill is beaten unless you can have it amended tomorrow." "That's out of the question," admitted the other, "tomorrow is the last day of the session, and it will be a physical impossibility to have the general bill reopened for changes of any kind." "Do you believe in Warrington?" asked the journalist. "As I believe in myself. He's careless, but he's as true as steel. He's gone away in the full belief that he would get back in time. I'd stake my life on his loyalty." "When will the Committee reach your bill?" "By four o'clock at the latest. There are only two bills ahead of it." "How long will it take to dispose of it?" "I should say it will either be passed or killed by half-past four." Conway shook his fist at an imaginary foe. "The rascals! They've timed it perfectly." "How?" "Warrington will only be taking the train for Washington at that time." Conway paced the width of the corridor two or three times. Suddenly he paused, a look of resolution in his eyes. "Is debate restricted to the Committee?" he asked, unexpectedly. "No." "Then, by Jove, I think I have it. It's only a chance in a thousand, but it's worth trying." During the next few minutes the journalist showed the latent possibilities that reposed beneath his placid exterior. He hustled Barry to his rooms for certain papers. Joe Hart, who happened along, was hurried off on another errand. All the while Conway was talking in quick, jerky, excited whispers to John Carlton. Barry and Joe returned about the same time, loaded down with reports and pamphlets. These were placed in the arms of the astonished Congressman. "Now, Carlton," was the farewell greeting of the correspondent, "I'm going to take Barry with me. I may need him. Joe Hart will stay here in case you need his services. In the meantime, good-bye and good luck." He was off like a flash. John Carlton returned to the Committee room and silently took his seat. His quiet demeanor surprised Hudson. He looked for an outbreak of some sort. But, instead the man from Maine sat there as mute as though he had been deprived of the power of speech. "Takes defeat better than I expected," whispered Hudson to his neighbor. "Oh," was the confident rejoinder, "he sees he's up against it and knows there's no use in making a fight."