Of course the lobby attacked the bill noisily; there were big guns going all day long; but those in charge knew perfectly well that the noise accomplished nothing in itself. It was used to cover the whispering. Still, Hurlbut held his line firm and the bill passed its second reading with fifty-two votes, Mr. Pixley being directed by his owners to vote for it on that occasion. As time went on the lobby began to grow desperate; even Pixley had been consulted upon his opinion by Barrett, the young lawyer through whom negotiations in his case had been conducted. Pixley suggested the name of Rollinson and Barrett dismissed this counsel with as much disgust for Pixley's stupidity as he had for the man's person. (One likes a _dog_ when he buys him.) “But why not?” Pixley had whined as he reached the door. “Uncle Billy ain't so much! You listen to me. He wouldn't take it out-an'-out--I don't say as he would. But you needn't work that way. Everybody thinks it's no use to tackle him--but nobody never _tried_! What's he _done_ to make you scared of him? _Nothing_! Jest set there and _looked_!” After he had gone the fellow's words came back to Barrett: “Nobody never tried!” And then, to satisfy his conscience that he was leaving no stone unturned, yet laughing at the uselessness of it, he wrote a letter to a confidant of his, formerly a colleague in the lobby, who lived in the county-seat near which Uncle Billy's mortgaged acres lay. The answer came the night after the second vote on the “Breaker.” “Dear Barrett: