Over the Governors Veto. forth and back and rubbing his brown hands .together. "Rivers can never muster a two-thirds vote in the House. I have a few friends left •over there that he can't scare into line. And the Speaker will be back any day now; you know he has a lot of influence." It was natural that the Governor should take a large amount of interest in the 'Speaker; for did not the Speaker take a large amount of interest in the Governor's •daughter? Some of the wives of legislators spending the winter at the capitol, having nothing else better to do, had even prema turely announced the engagement of the two young people a few times. The Governor, I thought, rather approved of the idea of a match; and, as far as I might observe, the Governor's daughter did not seem to offer much objection to it. The twenty-six Senators the Governor had picked to vote with Rivers did so, and one besides. The Speaker came down the same day from Grand Rapids with the news that "his sister's critical illness was over and she was out of danger. I am afraid the members did not feel the sympathetic interest in the Speaker's sister that they professed; for the Rivers bill was the all-absorbing topic. The Speaker had no more than reached Lansing when the Governor sent for him. I was with the Governor at the time and would have left, but he bade me stay. I shall never forget the conversation that followed. The Governor gave the younger man a firm hand clasp when the Speaker entered. Before he had released it he slapped him upon the shoulder and holding him at arms' length, looked him straight in the eye. "Jim," he asked, "you are a friend of mine?" There was a note of anxiety in the Gov ernor's voice that was new to us who had never known anything but his self-confident manner. In these last few days friends had been slipping away from him, and 1 think
there was a little loneliness in his heart when he spoke those words. There was no tremor in the young man's voice or alteration in his gaze as he replied: "Better, perhaps, than you are yourself." The ' Governor seated himself again and motioned the Speaker to a chair. "My boy," he said, "if there is anything at any time I can do for you, I want you to let me know." "Governor," the younger man replied, "as you know, I have been at the bedside of a sick sister, and it has set me thinking. She is the only person in the world that I may call by a dearer name than friend. I have many things to make me contented—a good law practice and some political prospects, for instance. But, after all, they are not much. Do you know if I should lose this dear sis ter of mine—God forbid—I would be without a soul to care for me? I have been think ing—I have—well, I have been thinking that I would like to marry your daughter." A happy smile passed quickly over the Governor's face. "I would be glad to have Grace marry any good man she set her heart on," he said, "so long as he was one of my friends." "But I sent for you," the Governor went on, "to speak to you particularly about this Rivers bill. You know that it has passed the Senate and will be reconsidered in the House today." "I read so in the morning papers." "Well, this thing has developed into a scrap between Rivers and me, through no fault of mine. Rivers says he is going to put his friends on record. I am just as ready to put mine there. When the bill comes up to day I hope you will not dodge voting on it." "I won't, Governor." "You will vote against it, of course?" "I am sorry, but that is something I can not do." The Governor's hands gripped his chair, and his face turned pale.
