The Senator from Johnson moved impatiently. "You think it 'fine,'"
he asked, almost resentfully, "to be a coward?"

"Coward?" cried the other man. "Well, that's scarcely the word. It
was--heroic!"

"Oh no," said Senator Harrison, and he spoke wearily, "it was a
clear case of cowardice. You see," he laughed, "I was afraid it
might haunt me when I am seventy."

Senator Dorman started eagerly to speak, but the other man stopped
him and passed on. He was seeing it as his constituency would see
it, and it humiliated him. They would say he had not the courage of
his convictions, that he was afraid of the unpopularity, that his
judgment had fallen victim to the eloquence of the Senator from
Maxwell.

But when he left the building and came out into the softness of the
April afternoon it began to seem different. After all, it was not he
alone who leaned to the softer side. There were the trees--they were
permitted another chance to bud; there were the birds--they were
allowed another chance to sing; there was the earth--to it was given
another chance to yield. There stole over him a tranquil sense of
unison with Life.




III