ining: a commotion was going on
at the back of the gallery, and a voice was heard crying out:--

"For the love of God, let me through!"

Then Wetherell turned to see the crowd at the back parting a little, to
see a desperate man in a gorgeous white necktie fighting his way toward
the rail. He wore no hat, his collar was wilted, and his normally ashen
face had turned white. And, strangest of all, clutched tightly in his
hand was a pink ribbon.

"It's Al Lovejoy," said Bijah, laconically.

Unmindful of the awe-stricken stares he got from those about him when his
identity became known, Mr. Lovejoy gained the rail and shoved aside a man
who was actually making way for him. Leaning far out, he scanned the
house with inarticulate rage while the roll-call went monotonously on.
Some of the members looked up at him and laughed; others began to make
frantic signs, indicative of helplessness; still others telegraphed him
obvious advice about reenforcements which, if anything, increased his
fury. Mr. Bixby was now fanning himself with the blue handkerchief.

"I hear 'em!" he said, "I hear 'em, Will!"

And he did. The unmistakable hum of the voices of many men and the sound
of feet on stone flagging shook the silent night without. The clerk read
off the last name on the roll.

"Tompkins of Ulster."

His assistant lost no time now. A mistake would have been fatal, but he
was an old hand. Unmindful of the rumble on the wooden stairs below, Mr.
Sutton took the list with an admirable deliberation.

"One hundred and twelve gentlemen have voted in the affirmative,
forty-eight in the negative, the rules of the House are suspended, and"
(the clerk having twice mumbled the title of the bill) "the question is:
Shall the bill pass? As many as are of opinion that the bill pass will
say Aye, contrary minded No."

Feet were in the House corridor now, and voices rising there, and noises
that must have been scuffling--yes, and beating of door panels. Almost
every member was standing, and it seemed as if they were all
shouting,--"personal privilege," "fraud," "trickery," "open the doors."
Bijah was slowly squeezing the blood out of William Wetherell's arm.

"The doorkeepers has the keys in their pockets!" Mr. Bixby had to shout,
for once.

Even then the Speaker did not flinch. By a seeming miracle he got a
semblance of order, recognized his man, and his great voice rang through
the hall and drowned all other sounds.

"And on this que