Randolph assisted in quieting his band.
“If the convention—will permit—the chair—will explain—the parliamentary situation—in which—the convention—now finds itself.”
He paused and silence hung again upon his words.
“The gentleman—from Polk—presented—a report—from the committee—on permanent organization—and moved—its adoption. The gentleman—from—ah—Moultrie—then offered—a resolution. That resolution—the chair—declared—to be—out of order. Thereupon the gentleman—from Moultrie—appealed—from the decision—of the chair. That appeal—the gentleman—from Polk—moved—to lay—upon the table. The question, therefore, recurs—upon the motion—of the gentleman—from Polk—to table—the appeal. Upon that question—the yeas and nays—or, rather, a roll-call—of the delegations—has been—demanded. Those of you—who favor—the motion—that is, those of you—who favor—tabling the appeal—and the adoption—of the report—of the committee on permanent organization—will vote—‘Aye,’ and those—opposed—will vote—‘No’—upon the polling—of your respective—delegations, and the secretary—will call—the roll—of the counties.”
The gavel fell, and Randolph turned, smiling complacently as one who had already won his fight.
“Vote No!” he called to simplify the issue for his men.
And Rankin shouted:
“Vote Aye, boys; vote Aye.”
The delegations gathering in little groups were polled amid a hum of busy interest. Bailey had seated himself and looked with sleepy unconcern down on the mass of men, tearing up their little slips of paper and dropping them in the black slouch hats of southern Illinois. Once he moved, and beckoned to him a man from his own delegation, and cast his ballot with the Mason fellows. At last the hats were reposing between knees, the ballots were counted. Bailey slowly arose.
“Have you all voted?” he asked. The silence acquiesced.