for votes because of this interest; the Democratic party offering the people all the rum they want, the Prohibition party all the law they want, while the Republican party has usually been the successful bidder by giving the people both; but the people themselves feel that this is a problem with which they must cope for a long time to come, perhaps almost perpetually, and they look with favor upon the referendum as providing the methods and machinery best adapted to their purpose. They are insisting upon the right to an appeal from unsatisfactory decisions of the legislature direct to the people themselves, as to a court of last resort.

Equalization of taxes is already a ripe and living issue in Maine, and her people were quick to notice that while their own

most strenuous efforts, under the old system had been utterly futile, yet the people of Oregon on June 4th last, had an opportunity to vote directly for the reduction of their own taxes, by forcing those who enjoy a private monopoly of their public utilities to pay a more just share; and that they improved the opportunity by a vote of 11 to 1. The voters of Maine can see the true solution of their own tax problems through the same methods employed in Oregon,-methods which disentangle public questions from the private interests and personal aspirations of candidates for offices and give the voters an opportunity to pass an unbiased and non-partisan judgment upon them. ABNER W. NICHOLS.

Augusta, Maine.

taken

his inaugural message to the legislature. Beginning with the state finances, he was conscientiously covering all the subjects that his predecessors had introduced into this biennial document, from railroad rates to forest fires.

Before him was a glittering semicircle of men in gold-braided uniforms and women in gay gowns and bewildering hats; the brigadier-generals and colonels of the new governor's staff and the old governor's staff, with their ladies.

Another, wider semicircle, behind this zone of color, was composed of the members of the legislature, to whom the inaugural was supposed to be addressed. Some of them lolled or sprawled or sat bolt upright in their chairs; but more, dispossessed by the visitors of the day, stood, self-consciously, in the aisles or in the open space at the rear of the hall.

ties and boutonnieres, turned their backs frequently on the orating governor to scan the crowded gallery reserved for ladies.

Down in newspaper row the legislative reporters were taking it easy, for the inaugural was in type long since, awaiting only the message of "release," to greet the governor from the printed page as he left the state-house.

They, too, scanned the ladies' gallery -in search of copy, they would have said if pressed for an excuse-and for once Hal Butler actually found some there.

"George!" said he to his next neighbor, "look up in the hen-coop. Just this side of the middle pillar. See?"

George looked and grinned appreciatively.

"You saw her first. She belongs to you," he said.

So it was the "Under the Dome" column of gossip in The Evening Watchman that told the story; and the Morning Mirror's breezy description of the inauguration lacked this one touch.

Said The Watchman: "In the ladies' gallery to-day was one of the fair sex who can bring numerous witnesses to testify that she is not of those lilies of the field who toil not, neither do they spin. She must have arrived early, ahead of the crowd, for she had a choice seat in the front row. Following intelligently the progress of business, she evidently approved of the governor's message, for she nodded vigorously at its strong points. She could n't applaud as others did, for her hands were busily occupied with some kind of fancy work. Only when the chaplain prayed was her flying needle quiet, though under the spell of His Excellency's most eloquent passages it lagged a bit. Almost pausing, too, when the inaugural party entered and again when it departed with all the gay gowns in brilliant array. The Woman with the Knitting was, in fact, the one unique feature of this Inauguration."

The Mirror man was first in his seat next day and when Hal came in, with his usual rush to beat the speaker's gavel, his neighbor had something to communicate.

"You did n't scare her off, after all," said he. "I was afraid you would, but she is still here."

"She? Who?" asked Hal.

"Why, the Woman with the Knitting," replied Holland. See her? Same place and same knitting."

Then the speaker and the clerks started up the legislative machinery and the newspaper men had no time for gossip if they were to keep pace with the routine. Presently the pace slackened and Hal found a chance to slip in a word. "I've got a clue," he informed Holland. "To what?"

"To the Woman with the Knitting. When the clerk read the notice of a bill to be introduced by Mr. Choate of Hilton,

'to put a bounty on hedgehogs,' she stopped her work and smiled a smile that was a regular beam. So she's interested in either Choate or hedgehogs. Most likely Choate. Know him?"

"No. Look him up in the Blue Book when you get a chance."

This is what the Blue Book said: "Choate, John, of Hilton, Republican. B. in Hilton 1870, always lived there. Farmer. Educated public-schools. Maried; no children. Congregationalist. Member of the Patrons of Husbandry."

That afternoon came the biennial lottery of the seat-drawing, a ceremony through which the newspaper men always sat for the purpose of getting acquanited with the new crop of legislators so as to be able to make the right hitch between new names and new faces.

Butler and Holland were on the alert when "Mr. Choate of Hilton" was called, but he proved to be the ordinary farmer from a back town, awkward in his new surroundings, blushing red from shyness, but clean and honest in face and manner. He had good luck in the lottery, drawing a seat on an aisle, directly in front of the speaker.

The little woman up in the gallery beamed more brightly than ever as she saw a page conduct the member from Hilton to so desirable a location; and he for his part turned and waved a joyful hand of greeting.

After that, during the long turmoil of the session, it was ever a source of relief to Butler and Holland to turn their eyes upward to the gallery, sure to see there a busy little woman, fingers twinkling among soft wools or gray yarns or white cloth, eyes not long diverted from the broad shoulders and brown hair of the member from Hilton.

One day Holland was absent, and Butler, in payment for doing the other's work as well as his own, brought in pretty Mrs. Butler to occupy the vacant seat.

As he could snatch time through the rush of the day he pointed out to her the leaders of the House and its freaks; the

oldest and the youngest members, the handsomest and the homeliest, the tallest and the shortest, the millionaire and the prize-fighter, the famous novelist and the infamous lobbyist.

And finally he told her about the Woman with the Knitting and directed her attention to the gallery seat beside the pillar. There Mrs. Butler looked long and with interest; with a gaze that would have been a stare, in fact, had the object of the scrutiny been aware of it.

But the Woman with the Knitting was intent, as usual, on her work and her husband; smiling, as her fingers flew, a vague little smile that came with her thoughts and seemed to veil her eyes.

Curiously enough, the same sort of a smile hovered over Mrs. Butler's face in unconscious response. Also, she turned a little pink and shot a stealthy glance at her husband; who, however, was busily transcribing the ardent utterances of a rural statesman with various and sundry grievances to air.

So she waited until the privacy of their own home enshrouded them before imparting to her husband certain information which he greeted with a long-drawn whistle.

The member from Hilton had been honored at the outset of the session by appointment as chairman of the committee on agricultural affairs. Half a century before this was one of the "big" committees of the session and its chairmanship carried a good deal of responsibility and influence.

Back in the woods at Hilton they cherished the impression that it did still, and both Mr. Choate and his constituents were a good deal impressed with his importance when the committee list was published.

But as the session wore away and not one bill was referred to this committee on agricultural affairs, its chairman began to realize that probably he had been placed there to get him out of the way.

He did not like the idea a little bit, either. Up in Hilton there were so many statesmen in embryo that no man was ever allowed to come to the legislature more than once. This was Choate's sole chance to achieve fame, and, this was what worried him most, the Woman with the Knitting had absolute faith that he was going to do it.

The member from Hilton himself was

not so sure He grew uneasy; fidgeted in his seat; half rose from it once or twice when the waves of debate rolled inspiringly high over the subject of oleomargarine or forest preservation; then sank back again, angry at himself for his lack of courage.

The press row knew the symptoms and the word went round that the member from Hilton was due for a speech.

It came when the chairman of the committee on agricultural affairs introduced an act to incorporate the United States Horse Improvement Association, and moved its passage. Choate did well, better than his friends in the Row had expected, and the little woman in the gallery ceased her knitting for a much longer time than ever before during the

session.

The member from Hilton paid eloquent tribute to man's best friend, the horse; told of the fine horses that had been bred in this state in the past; and enlarged upon what the United States Horse Improvement Association intended to do in the future in the way of stock farms, horse shows, etc.

The bill passed at once its first and second readings without opposition and went to the table to be printed in regular course. Choate of Hilton was inclined to consider himself quite a legislative leader, and his wife had the halls of Congress plainly pictured in her mind.

Their friends in Newspaper Row also were pleased, at first; but Holland's brow was clouded when he came in next morning.

"Have you looked up that bill Choate put in yesterday?" he asked of Butler. "No; haven't had time yet," replied Butler. "Something in it?"

"Something in it'? There's all hell in it!" replied Holland with appropriate heat. "The New York racing law with some additions has been sneaked into that bill. It just gives the state to this Horse Improvement Association. They can build race-tracks anywhere they like and do whatever they like on them."

"All right, then, let's show it up," proposed Butler, rather pleased at the idea of a good row with which to close the

session.

"Show it up? Oh, yes, we 'll show it up," answered Holland with scorn. "Why, before this bill went in the men

behind it had retained every law firm of any account in the state; and as near as I can find out had seen every newspaper proprietor. They've got my boss fixed good and strong, I know. He told me who are at the bottom of it-Blake and Waite, the Westerners. Yes, you and I will show it up, I don't think."

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Quite a jump from that pair to Choate of Hilton," suggested Butler.

"That's what makes me so cussed mad," responded Holland. "Why did n't they let one of their own gang put in their dirty bill instead of fathering it on an honest farmer? If it passes and is known as the Choate law it means shame for him and his children and his children's children."

"Gee, but you 're looking a long ways into the future," laughed Butler.

Holland laughed, too, after a moment. "I don't know why I'm so worked up over this thing," he acknowledged, "but when I see that little woman knitting away up there, so full of love and pride for her husband, and then think of how these big thief lawyers are using him it makes me madder than if I was the fool myself. It makes no difference to any one else how big an ass I make of myself.

It was Butler's turn now to grow grave, as the thought of his wife at home came into his mind. "You 're right, old man," he said, "it's a beastly shame; and you and I will fix it yet."

Then the speaker's gavel fell, and it was a case of all hustle and no talk for the newspaper men. But while their pencils flew, recording the proceedings automatically, each was doing a heap of thinking; and when adjournment came each had a plan in his head.

"I'll see Choate this noon," said Holland, "and tell him the truth about the bill."

"And I will send word to my wife to come up to the statehouse this afternoon," added Butler. "Maybe she can do something with the little woman up in the gallery."

So near was the session to final ad

journment that the whole capitol was thronged that afternoon with those interested in the fate of some of the measures in the great heap still awaiting disposition. Lobbyists were fully as numerous as legislators and apparently much more interested in the business in hand. "Did you fetch him?" asked Butler, anxiously.

"I think so," answered Holland, "but wait and see.'

Up in the gallery the crush was something fearful, but the Woman with the Knitting was promptly and proudly in her place; and soon, perhaps the doorkeeper knew how it was done, Butler's little brown wife snuggled down beside her. Butler, watching out of the corner of his eye, gave his wife a mental pat on the back as he saw how soon the two were chatting away as briskly as old friends.

"Pretty strong on the 'con.' game is that little girl, I guess," he said to himself, the while he recorded the opening routine of the afternoon.

The climax was not long in coming. The Choate Bill, not for a moment delayed at the printer's, came up in its turn to be ordered to a third reading, which would naturally come on the following day with the vote on its passage to follow. But time was precious; there was no danger in sight; and up jumped a little city man in the front circle, right under the approving eyes of the big bosses.

The formal motion rattled off his tongue: "Mr. Speaker, I move you that the rules be so far suspended that this bill be read a third time by its title at the present time and put upon its passage." "You hear the motion," the speaker took up the chain with perfunctory promptness, "those who are in favor of suspending the rules"

'Mr. Speaker!" came a clear, insistent call from the member for Hilton.

The speaker glanced up in surprise and hesitated. But this was the man who reported the bill; he must be all right; and so he recognized:

Up in the gallery the fingers in the knitting were still. The Woman leaned forward, her lips parted. "Oh, I'm so glad," she whispered to herself.

'Mr. Speaker," said the member from Hilton, "the bill now under consideration came from my committee and was reported by me with the recommendation that it ought to pass. When I made that motion I had an entirely mistaken idea of the bill. I say now that I hope the bill will not pass. With a pretense of innocence it cloaks vile evil. Its promoters and instigators have hoped to betray the people of this state without their knowledge; to rob them of their birthright of honor and truth; to find in them a fresh field for debasing and demoralizing exploitation.”

By this time there was hubbub in all parts of the house. The little man in the front row waved his hand in the air and cried piercingly: "Order, Mr. Speaker, order,'

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"The gentleman from Hilton will suspend," proclaimed the speaker, point of order having been raised."

"My point of order is this, Mr. Speaker," said the little man, visibly swelling with the importance of the moment and the evident, though unspoken, approval of the bosses. "The gentleman from Hilton is making reckless, unfounded, libelous statements against gentlemen who are unable to defend themselves on the floor of this house, though we who know them know how unjust, how hideously unjust, these calumnies are. Speaker, when such action as this is attempted at such a stage in the life of a measure we who have had legislative experience know what to call it. We say that it is either a 'hold-up' or a 'sell-out.' And, Mr. Speaker, this house will stand

Mr.