“Mr. Speaker,” said Randolph, “I mean Mr. Chairman, I move you, sir, as a substitute for the report of the committee just presented, the following resolution, which I ask the clerk to read.”
His use of the words “speaker” and “clerk” was to show the effect of legislative habit.
Bailey only leaned a little farther over his desk, and then drawled:
“The chair—will state—to the gentleman—from Moultrie that it is not now—in order——”
Two or three men behind Randolph rose halfway to their feet, protest written in their faces, but without turning his head, or taking his eyes from the chairman, Randolph fluttered his hand at them behind his back and they subsided. It was plain from his manner that this was a play for position so delicate, that they must not risk disturbing it by interrupting their leader. So Bailey continued: “For the gentleman—to present—such a resolution.”
“But, Mr. Speaker,” began Randolph.
“The chair—will add—for the information—of the gentleman—from Moultrie,” Bailey continued, “that—the only thing—in order—at this time—would be—a minority report—and a motion—to substitute it, or, again, a motion—to lay the report—on the table.”
“But, Mr. Chairman,” once more began Randolph, stepping carefully into the aisle, “my resolution is in the very nature of a minority report. The chair will remember the ruling of Speaker Haines in the Thirty-fourth General Assembly—” He was taking higher ground by thus referring to mysteries known only to him and the chairman. But Bailey interrupted him.
“The chair—is acquainted—with the precedent—to which—the gentleman—refers, and is—of the opinion—that it does—not properly—apply—in this instance.”
The delegates listened with rapt attention. It was not often that in their rude, free conventions they had such parliamentary fine play as this, and they forgot the heat and the contest to enjoy their own bewilderment at it. Rankin still stood and smoked in unconcern. He knew he could safely leave Randolph to Bailey.