stion a roll-call is ordered. The doorkeepers will close
the doors!"

Then, as in reaction, the gallery trembled with a roar of laughter. But
Mr. Sutton did not smile. The clerk scratched off the names with
lightning rapidity, scarce waiting for the answers. Every man's color was
known, and it was against the rules to be present and fail to vote. The
noise in the corridors grew louder, some one dealt a smashing kick on a
panel, and Wetherell ventured to ask Mr. Bixby if he thought the doors
would hold.

"They can break in all they've a mind to now," he chuckled; "the Truro
Franchise is safe."

"What do you mean?" Wetherell demanded excitedly.

"If a member hain't present when a question is put, he can't git into a
roll-call," said Bijah.

The fact that the day was lost was evidently brought home to those below,
for the strife subsided gradually, and finally ceased altogether. The
whispers in the gallery died down, the spectators relayed a little.
Lovejoy alone remained tense, though he had seated himself on a bench,
and the hot anger in which he had come was now cooled into a
vindictiveness that set the hard lines of his face even harder. He still
clutched the ribbon. The last part of that famous roll-call was conducted
so quietly that a stranger entering the House would have suspected
nothing unusual. It was finished in absolute silence.

"One hundred and twelve gentlemen have voted in the affirmative,
forty-eight in the negative, and the bill passes. The House will attend
to the title of the bill."

"An act to extend the Truro Railroad to Harwich," said the clerk, glibly.

"Such will be the title of the bill unless otherwise ordered by the
House," said Mr. Speaker Sutton. "The doorkeepers will open the doors."

Somebody moved to adjourn, the motion was carried, and thus ended what
has gone down to history as the Woodchuck Session. Pandemonium reigned.
One hundred and forty belated members fought their way in at the four
entrances, and mingled with them were lobbyists of all sorts and
conditions, residents and visitors to the capital, men and women to whom
the drama of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" was as nothing to that of the Truro
Franchise Bill. It was a sight to look down upon. Fierce wrangles began
in a score of places, isolated personal remarks rose above the din, but
your New Englander rarely comes to blows; in other spots men with broad
smiles seized others by the hands and shook them violently, while Mr.
Spe