“‘Of course you haven’t,’ I said, ‘and what’s more, you never will. Now, see here,’ I said, ‘I’ll be quite frank with you, for I like you’--he cast a strange, sidling glance at me, distrustful, like all farmers--‘for I like you,’ I said, ‘and I want to do something for you. The men who are promoting this legislation have exactly enough votes to pass it over the governor’s veto, and it’s going to pass. On this ballot they will have just ninety-one votes--one of their men will vote against it to move a reconsideration if necessary, and about ten will not vote. When the absentees are called, these ten will vote for the bill, and on the verification, you’ll see others tumbling into the band-wagon. Now, your vote is not needed, as you see, and, cast for the bill or against it, can have no appreciable effect upon the result. The bill will pass without your vote, and you can not defeat it, for the hundred and two will stand firm in the end. One of them, however--it is Berry, I don’t mind telling you--is trying, at the last minute, to force us into raising his price. You can take his place, you can have his price of the easy money with his raise added, if you will go out there and vote for the bill.’ “He stood looking at the floor, ruminating. “‘I know, Henderson,’ I continued, ‘that you are a poor man, that you have a large family, that you have to work hard for a living. You are going home to-morrow, maybe not to come back here any more, and you can go if you wish, with three thousand dollars clean, cold cash in your pocket. What do you say?’ “The old man turned his face away and began to fumble with his horny fingers at his chin. His hand trembled as with a palsy. We could hear the roll-call going on outside: “‘Donavin!’ “‘Aye!’ “‘Donnelly!’ “‘Aye!’ “‘Evans!’ “‘No!’ “‘Finerty!’ “‘Aye!’ “‘Fitzmeyer!’ “‘Aye!’ “‘Flanigan!’ “‘Aye!’ “‘Hear them?’ I said. ‘It’s nearly up to you--what do you say?’ “The old man’s lips quivered, and his calloused fingers grated in his beard. He opened his lips to speak, but his jaw moved helplessly. And we heard Hen’s voice back there in the house calling--calling so that you could have heard him over in the Leland bar-room: “‘Geisbach!’ “‘No!’ “‘He is one of those who will change,’ I said. “‘Giger!’ “There was no response. ‘He’ll be all right when they call the absentees,’ I said. “‘Gordon!’ “‘No!’ “‘Griesheimer!’ “‘Aye!’ “‘Hear them?’ I asked. The H’s came next, and the old man, still fumbling with his chin, and without turning his head began to talk: “‘Baldwin,’ he said, ‘you’re right. I am a poor man. I have a wife an’ eight children. To-morrow I’m goin’ back home, an’ o’ Monday I’m goin’ to hunt a job--hunt a job in the harves’ field. I’ve worked hard all my life. I ’spect to work hard all my life. I’ll keep on huntin’ jobs in the harves’ fields. I’ll probably die in the poor-house. I’ll be buried in the potter’s field. God knows what’ll become of that woman and them children.’