“If there hain’t a quorum, we’re done for,” he said.  “How much time has gone away?  Twenty minutes!  Godfrey, some of ’em may break loose and git here is five minutes!”

“Break loose?” Wetherell exclaimed involuntarily.

Mr. Bixby screwed up his face.

“You understand.  Accidents is liable to happen.”

Mr. Wetherell didn’t understand in the least, but just then the clerk reached the last name on the roll; an instant of absolute silence, save for the June-bugs, followed, while the assistant clerk ran over his figures deftly and handed them to Mr. Sutton, who leaned forward to receive them.

“One hundred and twelve gentlemen have voted in the affirmative and forty-eight in the negative, and the report of the Committee is accepted.”

“Ten more’n a quorum!” ejaculated Mr. Bixby, in a voice of thanksgiving, 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.”