The Democrats generally had seemed stunned by the boldness of this move; but the Kentucky Breckinridge, at the mention of his name, rushed down the aisle, brandishing his fist and shaking his head so that its straight white hair stood out from it. His face was aflame with anger, and his voice quite beyond his control, as he shrieked: “I deny the power of the Speaker--this is revolutionary!” The other Democrats, inspired by his example and recovering from their stupefaction, poured into the center aisle. They bore down in a mass upon the Speaker’s dais, gesticulating wildly and all shouting at once, so that nothing could be understood from the babel of voices save their desire to express their scorn for the Speaker and their defiance of his authority. The Republicans sat quiet, making no demonstration, but obviously prepared to rush in if the trouble took on a more violent form. The Speaker stood apparently unruffled, not even changing color, and only those who were near enough to see every line in his face were aware of that slight twitching of the muscles of his mouth which always indicated that his outward composure was not due to insensibility. So furious was the clamor that he was compelled to desist from his reading for a moment, while he pounded with his gavel to command order on the floor. Then, as the remonstrants fell back a little, his nasal tone was heard again, still reciting that momentous list: “Mr. Brookshire, Mr. Bullock, Mr. Bynum, Mr. Carlisle--” And so on down the roll, one member after another jumping up when he heard his name called, but subsiding as the Speaker went imperturbably ahead, much as might a schoolmaster with a roomful of refractory pupils. Presently came the opportunity he had been waiting for. Mr. McCreary of Kentucky, a very dignified, decorous-mannered gentleman on ordinary occasions, had shown by his change of countenance and color that he was repressing his emotions with difficulty; and, resolved not to be ridden over ruthlessly as the rest had been, he had risen in his place and stood there, holding before him an open book and waiting to hear his name. The instant it was read out, he raised his disengaged hand and shouted: “Mr. Speaker!” To every one’s astonishment, the Speaker paused, turning a look of inquiry toward the interrupter, while the House held its breath. “I deny,” cried Mr. McCreary, in a voice which, in spite of his endeavor to be calm, was trembling with agitation, “your right to count me as present; and I desire to cite some parliamentary law in support of my point!” Reed, wearing an air of entire seriousness, answered with his familiar drawl: “The Chair is making a statement of fact that the gentleman is present.” Then, with a significant emphasis on each word: “Does--the--gentleman--deny--it?”