There one morning she learned that "the immediate effect of the introduction of the Hare Bill in the House has been to transfer the fight from the South to Washington. True, the Wordyfellow speakers and press have raised a more ear-splitting howl, and opened up with every gun of argument, appeal, abuse, expletive and rant; but they see clearly that this bill if passed will bring all their schemes to naught, and that the issue has been taken out of their hands. It is tantalizingly uncertain to them whether the bill will become a law; for there are many incidental questions and considerations which complicate the issue here at Washington. But all men know that when Mr. Phillips sets his head for anything he will move heaven and earth to attain it. Few doubt his power to whip many Representatives and Senators into line or his readiness to wield the whip if the fate of any pet measure demands it. There is much of the Jesuit in Mr. Phillips’ philosophy of life and action. When he believes a thing is right he believes that no squeamish notion should prevent his bringing it to pass. Keep your eyes on him! It is always interesting to see how he does it." "Pity he is not a Senator!" Elise commented with scornful impatience as she threw the paper down, "that papa might whip him into becoming modesty!" * * * * * At the moment Elise was so delivering her mind, a telegraph boy was handing Rutledge a message. He tore it open and read: "COLUMBIA, S.C, Jan. 9th, 191-. "EVANS RUTLEDGE, "Washington, D.C. "Exactly how old are you and where do you vote? "W. D. ROBERTSON." Evans looked around behind the telegraph-sheet as if seeking an explanation. He gazed quizzically at the messenger-boy, but that young gentleman only grinned and then looked solemn. "Well," Evans muttered, "what the devil’s up Robbie’s back now?" He sat down and thought the thing over awhile. Then he constructed a reply. "WASHINGTON, Jan. 9th, 191-. "W. D. ROBERTSON, Atty.-General, "Columbia, S.C. "Your telegram received. If it is official I decline to answer. _Entre nous_ I will be thirty-one on the 29th of February at something like twenty minutes past three in the morning—they didn’t have a stopwatch in the house. I vote in Cherokee County, Pacolet precinct, generally of late in a cigar-box in the shed-room of Jake Sims’s store where Gus Herndon used to run a barber-shop when you and I were young, Maggie. Why? EVANS RUTLEDGE." "Send that _collect_, youngster. We’ll make old Robbie pay for his impertinence." "Look here, sonny," he called to the boy who had gotten out the door, "bring any answer to that down to the Capitol. I am going to have a look at the Senate." He was sitting beside Lola DeVale in the members’ gallery when the answer came. "COLUMBIA, S.C, Jan. 9th, 191-. HON. EVANS RUTLEDGE, "Washington, D.C.