But gradually he forgot the battle-flags, and his mood changed.  Perhaps the sight of Mr. Speaker Sutton towering above the House, the very essence and bulk of authority, brought this about.  He aroused in Wetherell unwilling admiration and envy when he arose to put a question in his deep voice, or rapped sternly with his gavel to silence the tumult of voices that arose from time to time; or while some member was speaking, or the clerk was reading a bill at breathless speed, he turned with wonderful nonchalance to listen to the conversation of the gentlemen on the bench beside him, smiled, nodded, pulled his whiskers, at once conscious and unconscious of his high position.  And, most remarkable of all to the storekeeper, not a man of the three hundred, however obscure, could rise that the Speaker did not instantly call him by name.

William Wetherell was occupied by such reflections as these when suddenly there fell a hush through the House.  The clerk had stopped reading, the Speaker had stopped conversing, and, seizing his gavel, looked expectantly over the heads of the members and nodded.  A sleek, comfortably dressed mail arose smilingly in the middle of the House, and subdued laughter rippled from seat to seat as he addressed the chair.

“Mr. Jameson of Wantage.”

Mr. Jameson cleared his throat impressively and looked smilingly about him.

“Mr. Speaker and gentlemen of the House,” he said, “if I desired to arouse the enthusiasm—­the just enthusiasm—­of any gathering in this House, or in this city, or in this state, I should mention the name of the Honorable Alva Hopkins of Gosport.  I think I am right.”

Mr. Jameson was interrupted, as he no doubt expected, by applause from floor and gallery.  He stood rubbing his hands together, and it seemed to William Wetherell that the Speaker did not rap as sharply with his gavel as he had upon other occasions.

“Gentlemen of the House,” continued Mr. Jameson, presently, “the Honorable Alva Hopkins, whom we all know and love, has with unparalleled generosity—­unparalleled, I say—­bought up three hundred and twelve seats in Fosters Opera House for to-morrow night” (renewed applause), “in order that every member of this august body may have the opportunity to witness that most classic of histrionic productions, ’Uncle Tom’s Cabin’.” (Loud applause, causing the Speaker to rap sharply.) “That we may show a proper appreciation of this compliment—­I move you, Mr. Speaker, that the House adjourn not later than six o’clock to-morrow, Wednesday evening, not to meet again until Thursday morning.”

Mr. Jameson of Wantage handed the resolution to a page and sat down amidst renewed applause.  Mr. Wetherell noticed that many members turned in their seats as they clapped, and glancing along the gallery he caught a flash of red and perceived the radiant Miss Cassandra herself leaning over the rail, her hands clasped in ecstasy.  Mr. Lovejoy was not with her—­he evidently preferred to pay his attentions in private.