"Ah, yes! An old Has-been," thought Holman. Baldwin said that, and McCray! They said that even down in Jasper. But Baldwin, he was no Has-been; it had not affected him at all.
When Holman entered the house that afternoon he was sensible of a change in the atmosphere. The new element was one he recognized—skilled as of old in legislative aëroscepsy—one that strangely excited him, both by what it recalled and by what it portended; there were tension, alertness, irritability and suspense, the knowledge of an evil, sinister Presence, known, silent, unrevealed, but apprehended—a Presence expected, even desired, yet dreaded; in short, the psychic condition that exists in a legislative chamber when something is about to come off. Holman, standing well back by the cloak-*room, examining the house with expert eye, knew that the thing was imminent, though not immediate. There were certain signs wanting. The speaker sat calm, but he was twirling his gavel nervously; the leaders were restless and furtive, but they had not as yet got every man in his seat. McCray, for instance, was absent.
