ing,
as the turmoil below began again. It seemed as though every man in the
opposition was on his feet and yelling at the chair: some to adjourn;
some to indefinitely postpone; some demanding roll-calls; others swearing
at these--for a division vote would have opened the doors. Others tried
to get out, and then ran down the aisles and called fiercely on the
Speaker to open the doors, and threatened him. But the Honorable Heth
Sutton did not lose his head, and it may be doubted whether he ever
appeared to better advantage than at that moment. He had a voice like one
of the Clovelly bulls that fed in his own pastures in the valley, and by
sheer bellowing he got silence, or something approaching it,--the
protests dying down to a hum; had recognised another friend of the bill,
and was putting another question.

"Mr. Gibbs of Wareham moves that the rules of the House be so far
suspended that this bill be read a second and third time by its title,
and be put upon its final passage at this time. And on this motion,"
thundered Mr. Sutton, above the tide of rising voices, "the yeas and nays
are called for. The doorkeepers will keep the doors shut."

"Abbey of Ashburton."

The nimble clerk had begun on the roll almost before the Speaker was
through, and checked off the name. Bijah Bixby mopped his brow with a
blue pocket-handkerchief.

"My God," he said, "what a risk Jethro's took! they can't git through
another roll-call. Jest look at Heth! Ain't he carryin' it magnificent?
Hain't as ruffled as I be. I've knowed him ever sence he wahn't no
higher'n that desk. Never would have b'en in politics if it hadn't b'en
for me. Funny thing, Will--you and I was so excited we never thought to
look at the clock. Put up your watch. Godfrey, what's this?"

The noise of many feet was heard behind them. Men and women were crowding
breathlessly into the gallery.

"Didn't take it long to git noised araound," said Mr. Bixby. "Say, Will,
they're bound to have got at 'em in the thea'tre. Don't see how they held
'em off, c-cussed if I do."

The seconds ticked into minutes, the air became stifling, for now the
front of the gallery was packed. Now, if ever, the fate of the Truro
Franchise hung in the balance, and, perhaps, the rule of Jethro Bass. And
now, as in the distance, came a faint, indefinable stir, not yet to be
identified by Wetherell's ears as a sound, but registered somewhere in
his brain as a warning note. Bijah Bixby, as sensitive