THE NEED OF MONEY


Far back in his corner on the Democratic side of the House, Uncle
Billy Rollinson sat through the dragging routine of the legislative
session, wondering what most of it meant. When anybody spoke to him,
in passing, he would answer, in his gentle, timid voice, "Howdy-do,
sir." Then his cheeks would grow a little red and he would stroke his
long, white beard elaborately, to cover his embarrassment. When a vote
was taken, his name was called toward the last of the roll, so that he
had ample time, after the leader of his side of the House, young
Hurlbut, had voted, to clear his throat several times and say "Aye" or
"No" in quite a firm voice. But the instant the word had left his lips
he found himself terribly frightened, and stroked his beard a great
many times, the while he stared seriously up at the ceiling, partly to
avoid meeting anybody's eye, and partly in the belief that it
concealed his agitation and gave him the air of knowing what he was
about. Usually he did not know, any more than he knew how he had
happened to be sent to the legislature by his county. But he liked
it. He liked the feeling of being a person to be considered; he liked
to think that he was making the laws of his State. He liked the
handsome desk and the easy leather chair; he liked the row of fat,
expensive volumes, the unlimited stationery, and the free penknives
which were furnished him. He enjoyed the attentions of the coloured
men in the cloakroom, who brushed him ostentatiously and always called
him (and the other Representatives) "Senator," to make up to
themselves for the airs which the janitors of the "Upper House"
assumed. Most of these things surprised him; he had not expected to