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Updated: June 6, 2025
An old man with abundant hair, blue-white under the perpendicular light, arose at the back part of the room, making a fine picture outlined against the deep red screen. His manner was courtly, his ruddy face pleasing, his voice musical and impassioned. "He's the dress parade orator of the house," observed Radbourn.
At last a special order brought up an unfinished debate upon some matter, and the five minute rule was enforced. "You're in luck," said Radbourn. "The whole procession is going to pass before you." As the debate went on he pointed out the great men whose names suggested history to Bradley and whose actual presence amazed him.
"Yes, yes, I know," said Lily; a look of deeper pain swept over her face. "And the fate of the poor women; oh, the fate of the women!" "Yes, it's a matter of statistics," went on Radbourn, pitilessly, "that the wives of the American farmers fill our insane asylums. See what a life they lead, most of them; no music, no books. Seventeen hours a day in a couple of small rooms dens.
He waited for developments, his eyes on the dog. "Well, young man, what can I do for you?" asked the lawyer after a long silence, during which he laid down one book, and read a page in another. "Nothin', I guess." "Well, what the devil did yeh come in here for?" he inquired, with a glare of astonishment. "Want 'o buy a dog?" Bradley was mad. "I came because Radbourn sent me.
They thought Bacon had no right to speak out that way, and Miss Graham uttered her protest, as they whirled away on the homeward ride with pleasant jangle of bells. "But the secret of it all was," said Radbourn in answer, "Pill knew he was acting a part.
He saw the colorless, handsome face of Radbourn, with a look of reproach and a note of suggestion Radbourn, one of the best thinkers and speakers in Rock River, and the most generally admired young man in Rock County. When he saw and heard Bacon, his hurt pride flamed up in wrath, but the calm voice of Radbourn, and the look in his stern, accusing eyes, made his head fall in thought.
On going down the stairs, Radbourn called his attention to the paintings, hanging here and there, which he called "hideous daubs" with the reckless presumption of a born realist to whom allegory was a personal affront.
"Some of your colleagues," Radbourn said, indicating them with his thumb. As they paused a moment in the centre of the dome, one of the group, a handsome fellow with a waxed mustache and hard, black eyes, gave a stretching gesture, and said, "I'm in the world now." His words thrilled Bradley to the heart. He was in the world now.
"No, I guess not. I just want to look on for to-day." "Well, we'll go up in the gallery." Looking down upon the floor and its increasing swarm of individuals, Bradley got a complete sense of its vastness and its complexity and noise. "It makes the Iowa legislature seem like a school-room," he said to Radbourn.
Radbourn let the reins fall slack as he talked on. He did not look at the girl; his eyebrows were drawn into a look of gloomy pain. "It ain't so much the grime that I abhor, nor the labor that crooks their backs and makes their hands bludgeons. It's the horrible waste of life involved in it all.
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