Gradually he began to lead up to where he hoped to make his point--that, although of the party in opposition, he felt as deeply, and resented as instantly, any infringement of the dignity of the Government as any citizen of the republic--and that such was the feeling in his party. His own people saw his lead and applauded tremendously. Just then the Speaker’s gavel fell. Loud cries of “Go on! Go on! Give him half an hour more! Give him an hour!” rang out. Pembroke had ceased in the middle of a sentence, and had sat down. “Is there objection to the gentleman from Virginia continuing?” asked the Speaker, in an animated voice. “The Chair hears none. The gentleman will proceed.” The applause now turned into cheers and shouts. One very deaf old gentleman moved forward to Pembroke and, deliberately motioning a younger man out of his seat, quietly took possession of it, to the amusement of the House. The little page, who was evidently a pet of the old gentleman, stole up to him and managed to crowd in the same chair. Shouts of laughter followed this, followed by renewed applause for Pembroke, in which his opponents good-naturedly joined. Then Pembroke felt that the time had come. He had the House with him. He spoke for an hour. He merely took the Volkonsky incident for a text. He spoke of the regard for the common weal exhibited by his party, and he vigorously denounced his opponents for their attempt to make party capital out of that which was near and dear to all Americans. He spoke with temper and judgment, but his party realized that they had gained a powerful aid in their fight with the majority. At the last he artfully indulged in one burst of eloquence--in which he seemed carried away by his theme, but in which, like a genuine orator, he played upon his audience, and while they imagined that he had forgotten himself he was watching them. Truly they had forgotten everything but the ringing words of the speaker. He had touched the chord of true Americanism which sweeps away all parties, all prejudices. Then, amidst prolonged and vociferous cheering, he sat down. Senators and Representatives closed around him, congratulating him and shaking hands. The House was in no mood for anything after that, and a motion to adjourn was carried, nobody knew how. When at last, to escape being made to appear as if he remained to be congratulated, Pembroke was going toward the cloak room the Speaker passed near him and advanced and offered his hand. “Ah,” he cried, in his pleasant, jovial way, “right well have you acquitted yourself this day. You’ll find much better company on our side of the House, however, my young friend.” “Thank you,” said Pembroke, smiling and bowing to the great man. “It’s not bad on my own side.” The Speaker laughed and passed on.