THE STURDY OAK

A COMPOSITE NOVEL OF AMERICAN POLITICS BY FOURTEEN AMERICAN AUTHORS

By Samuel Merwin, et al. 

[Illustration] THE STURDY OAK

Other Authors:

 SAMUEL MERWIN HARRY LEON WILSON FANNIE HURST DOROTHY CANFIELD KATHLEEN NORRIS HENRY KITCHELL WEBSTER ANNE O'HAGAN MARY HEATON VORSE ALICE DUER MILLER ETHEL WATTS MUMFORD MARJORIE BENTON COOKE WILLIAM ALLEN WHITE MARY AUSTIN LEROY SCOTT

THEME BY MARY AUSTIN

The chapters collected and (very cautiously) edited by ELIZABETH JORDAN

NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 1917 [Blank-copyright info]

PREFACE

At a certain committee meeting held in the spring of 1916, it was agreedthat fourteen leading American authors, known to be extremely generousas well as gifted, should be asked to write a composite novel. 

As I was not present at this particular meeting, it was unanimously andjoyously decided by those who were present that I should attend to thetrivial details of getting this novel together. 

It appeared that all I had to do was:

First, to persuade each of the busy authors on the list to write achapter of the novel. 

Second, to keep steadily on their trails from the moment they promisedtheir chapters until they turned them in. 

Third, to have the novel finished and published serially during theautumn Campaign of 1917. 

The carrying out of these requirements has not been the childishdiversion it may have seemed. Splendid team work, however, has madesuccess possible. 

Every author represented, every worker on the team, has gratuitouslycontributed his or her services; and every dollar realized by the serialand book publication of "The Sturdy Oak" will be devoted to the SuffrageCause. But the novel itself is first of all a very human story ofAmerican life today. It neither unduly nor unfairly emphasizes thequestion of equal suffrage, and it should appeal to all lovers of goodfiction. 

Therefore, pausing only to wipe the beads of perspiration from ourbrows, we urge every one to buy this book!

ELIZABETH JORDAN. 

NEW YORK. 

_November_, 1917. CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I. BY SAMUEL MERWIN

 II. BY HARRY LEON WILSON

 III. BY FANNIE HURST

 IV. BY DOROTHY CANFIELD

 V. BY KATHLEEN NORRIS

 VI. BY HENRY KITCHELL WEBSTER

 VII. BY ANNE O'HAGAN

 VIII. BY MARY HEATON VORSE

 IX. BY ALICE DUER MILLER

 X. BY ETHEL WATTS MUMFORD

 XI. BY MARJORIE BENTON COOK

 XII. BY WILLIAM ALLEN WHITE

 XIII. BY MARY AUSTIN

 XIV. BY LEROY SCOTT ILLUSTRATIONS

"Nobody ever means that a woman really can't get along without a man'sprotection, because look at the women who do. "

It was hard on the darling old boy to come home to Miss Emelene and thecat and Eleanor and Alys every night!

"You mean because she's a suffragist? You sent her away for _that!_ Why, really, that's _tyranny!_"

Across the way, Mrs. Herrington, the fighting blood of five generationsof patriots roused in her, had reinstated the Voiceless Speech. 

PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS

_George Remington_. .. Aged twenty-six; newly married. Recently returnedto his home town, New York State, to take up the practice of law. Politically ambitious, a candidate for District Attorney. Opposed towoman suffrage. 

_Genevieve_. .. His wife, aged twenty-three, graduate of Smith. Devotedto George; her ideal being to share his every thought. 

_Betty Sheridan_. .. A friend of Genevieve. Very pretty; one of the firstfamilies, well-to-do but in search of economic independence. Working asstenographer in George's office; an ardent Suffragist. 

_Penfield Evans_. .. Otherwise "Penny, " George's partner, in love withBetty. Neutral on the subject of Suffrage. 

_Alys Brewster-Smith_. .. Cousin of George, once removed; thirty-three, a married woman by profession, but temporarily widowed. Anti-suffragist. One Angel Child aged five. 

_Martin Jaffry_. .. Uncle to George, bachelor of uncertain age andcertain income. The widow's destined prey. 

_Cousin Emelene_. .. . On Genevieve's side. Between thirty-five and forty, a born spinster but clinging to the hope of marriage as the only careerfor women. Has a small and decreasing income. Affectedly feminine andgenuinely incompetent. 

_Mrs. Harvey Herrington_. .. . President of the Woman's Club, theMunicipal League, Suffrage Society leader, wealthy, cultured andpossessing a sense of humor. 

_Percival Pauncefoot Sheridan_. .. . Betty's brother, fifteen, commonlycalled Pudge. Pink, pudgy, sensitive; always imposed upon, alwaysgrouchy and too good-natured to assert himself. 

_E. Eliot_. .. . Real estate agent (added in Chapter VI by Henry KitchellWebster). 

_Benjamin Doolittle_. .. . A leader of his party, and somewhat carelesswhere he leads it. (Added in Anne O'Hagan's Chapter). 

_Patrick Noonan_. .. . A follower of Doolittle. 

Time. .. . The Present. 

Place. .. . Whitewater, N. Y. A manufacturing town of from ten to fifteenthousand inhabitants. 

THE STURDY OAK

CHAPTER I. BY SAMUEL MERWIN

Genevieve Remington had been called beautiful. She was tall, with browneyes and a fine spun mass of golden-brown hair. She had a gentle smile, that disclosed white, even teeth. Her voice was not unmusical. Shewas twenty-three years old and possessed a husband who, though onlytwenty-six, had already shown such strength of character and suchaptitude at the criminal branch of the law that he was now a candidatefor the post of district attorney on the regular Republican ticket. 

The popular impression was that he would be elected hands down. Hisaddress on Alexander Hamilton at the Union League Club banquet atHamilton City, twenty-five miles from Whitewater (with which smallercity we are concerned in this narrative), had been reprinted in fullin the Hamilton City _Tribune_; and Mrs. Brewster-Smith reported thatformer Congressman Hancock had compared it, not unfavorably, withcertain public utterances of the Honorable Elihu Root. 

George Remington was an inch more than six feet tall, with sturdyshoulders, a chin that gave every indication of stubborn strength, afrank smile, and a warm, strong handclasp. He was connected by blood (aswell as by marriage) with five of the eight best families in Whitewater. Mr. Martin Jaffry, George's uncle and sole inheritor of the great Jaffryestate (and a bachelor), was known to favor his candidacy; was supposed, indeed, to be a large contributor to the Remington campaign fund. Infact, George Remington was a lucky young man, a coming young man. 

George and Genevieve had been married five weeks; this was their firstday as master and mistress of the old Remington place on Sheridan Road. 

Genevieve, that afternoon, was in the long living-room, trying outvarious arrangements of the flowers that had been sent in. There were agreat many flowers. Most of them came from admirers of George. The YoungMen's Republican Club, for one item, had sent eight dozen roses. But Genevieve, still a-thrill with the magic of her five-weeks-longhoneymoon, tremulously happy in the cumulative proof that her husbandwas the noblest, strongest, bravest man alive, felt only joy in hispopularity. 

As his wife she shared his triumphs. "For better or worse, for richeror poorer, in sickness and health. .. " the ancient phrases repeatedthemselves so many times in her softly confused thought, as she movedabout among the flowers, that they finally took on a rhythm--

 _"For better or worse, For richer or poorer, For richer or poorer, For better or worse--"_

 * * * * *

On this day her life was beginning. She had given herself irrevocablyinto the hands of this man. She would live only in him. Her life wouldfind expression only through his. His strong, trained mind would be herguide, his sturdy courage her strength. He would build for them both, for the twain that were one. 

She caught up one red rose, winked the moisture from her eyes, andgazed--rapt, lips parted, color high--out at the close-clipped lawnbehind the privet hedge. The afternoon would soon be waning--in anotherhour or so. She must not disturb him now. 

In an hour, say, she would run up the stairs and tap at his door. Andhe would come out, clasp her in his big arms, and she would stand on thetips of her toes and kiss away the wrinkles between his brows, and theywould walk on the lawn and talk about themselves and the miracle oftheir love. 

The clock on the mantel struck three. She pouted; turned and stared atit. "Well, " she told herself, "I'll wait until half-past four. "

The doorbell rang. 

Genevieve's color faded. The slim hand that held the rose trembled avery little. Her first caller! She decided that it would be best notto talk about George. Not one word about George! Her feelings were hersecret--and his. 

Marie ushered in two ladies. One, who rushed forward with outstretchedhand, was a curiously vital-appearing creature in black--plainly awidow--hardly more than thirty-two or thirty-three, fresh of skin, rather prominent as to eyeballs, yet, everything considered, a handsomewoman. This was Alys Brewster-Smith. The other, shorter, slighter, several years older, a faded, smiling, tremulously hopeful spinster, wasGenevieve's own cousin, Emelene Brand. 

"It's so nice of you to come--" Geneviève began timidly, only to beswept aside by the superior aggressiveness and the stronger voice ofMrs. Brewster-Smith. 

"My _dear_! Isn't it perfectly delightful to see you actually mistressof this wonderful old home. And"--her slightly prominent eyes swiftlytook in furniture, pictures, rugs, flowers, --"how wonderfully youhave managed to give the old place your own tone!" "Nothing has beenchanged, " murmured Genevieve, a thought bewildered. 

"Nothing, my dear, but yourself! I am _so_ looking forward to a goodtalk with you. Emelene and I were speaking of that only this noon. AndI can't tell you how sorry I am that our first call has to be on amiserable political matter. Tell me, dear, is that wonderful husband ofyours at home?"

"Why--yes. But I am not to disturb him. "

"Ah, shut away in his den?"

Genevieve nodded. 

"It's a very important paper he has to write. It has to be done now, before he is drawn into the whirl of campaign work. "

"Of course! Of course! But I'm afraid the campaign is whirling already. I will tell you what brought us, my dear. You know of course thatMrs. Harvey Herrington has come out for suffrage--thrown in her wholepersonal weight and, no doubt, her money. I can't understand it--withher home, and her husband--going into the mire of politics. But that iswhat she has done. And Grace Hatfield called up not ten minutes ago tosay that she has just led a delegation of ladies up to your husband'soffice. Think of it--to his office! The first day!. .. Well, Emelene, itis some consolation that they won't find him there. "

"He isn't going to the office today, " said Genevieve. "But what can theywant of him?"

"To get him to declare for suffrage, my dear. "

"Oh--I'm sure he wouldn't do that!"

"Are you, my dear? Are you _sure_?"

"Well----"

"He has told you his views, of course?"

Genevieve knit her brows. "Why, yes--of course, we've talked aboutthings----"

"My dear, of course he is _against suffrage_. "

"Oh yes, of course. I'm sure he is. Though, you see, I would no morethink of intruding in George's business affairs than he would think ofintruding in my household duties. "

"Naturally, Genevieve. And very sweet and dear of you! But I'm sure youwill see how very important this is. Here we are, right at the beginningof his campaign. Those vulgar women are going to hound him. They'vebegun already. As our committee wrote him last week, it is vitallyimportant that he should declare himself unequivocally at once. "

"Oh, yes, " murmured Genevieve, "of course. I can see that. "

The doors swung open. A thin little man of forty to fifty stood there, a dry but good-humored man, with many wrinkles about his quizzical blueeyes, and sandy hair at the sides and back of an otherwise bald head. He was smartly dressed in a homespun Norfolk suit. He waved a cap ofhomespun in greeting. 

"Afternoon, ladies! Genevieve, a bachelor's admiration and respect! Ihope that boy George has got sense enough to be proud of you. But theyhaven't at that age. They're all for themselves. "

"Oh no, Uncle Martin, " cried Genevieve, "George is the mostgenerous----"

Mr. Martin Jaffry flicked his cap. "All right. All right! He is. " Andslowly retreated. 

Mrs. Brewster-Smith, an eager light in her eyes, moved part way acrossthe room. "But we can't let you run away like this, Mr. Jaffry. Do sitdown and tell us about the work you are doing at the Country Club. Is itto be bowling alley _and_ swimming pool----"

"Bowling alley _and_ swimming pool, yes. Tell me, chick, might a humbleconstituent speak to the great man?"

Genevieve hesitated. "I'm sure he'd love to see you, Uncle Martin. Buthe _did_ say----"

"Not to be disturbed by _any_body, eh?"

"Yes, Uncle Martin. It's a very important statement he has to preparebefore----"

"Good day, then. You look fine in the old house, chick!"

Mr. Jaffry donned his cap of homespun, ran down the steps and out thefront walk, hopped into his eight-cylinder roadster, and was off downthe street in a second. There was a sharp decisiveness about his exit, and about the sudden speed of his machine; all duly noted by Mrs. Brewster-Smith, who had gone so far as to move down the room to thefront window and watch the performance with narrowed eyes. The JaffryBuilding stands at the southwest corner of Fountain Square. It boastssix stories, mosaic flooring in the halls, and the only passengerelevator in Whitewater. The ground floor was given over to Humphrey'sdrug store; and most of Humphrey's drug store was given over to theimmense marble soda fountain and the dozen or more wire-legged tablesand the two or three dozen wire chairs that served to accommodate thelate afternoon and evening crowd. 

At the moment the fountain had but one patron--a remarkably fat boy of, perhaps, fifteen, with plump cheeks and drooping mouth. .. . The row ofwindows across the second floor front of the building, above Humphrey's, bore, each, the legend--_Remington and Evans, Attorneys at Law_. 

The fat boy was Percival Sheridan, otherwise Pudge. His sister, BettySheridan, worked in the law offices directly overhead and possessed aheart of stone. 

Betty was rich, at least in the eyes of Pudge. For more than ayear (Betty was twenty-two) she had enjoyed a private income. Pudgedefinitely knew this. She had money to buy out the soda fountain. Buther character, thought Pudge, might be summed up in the statement thatshe worked when she didn't have to (people talked about this; even tohim!) and flatly refused to give her brother money for soda. 

As if a little soda ever hurt anybody. She took it herself, oftenenough. Within five minutes he had laid the matter before her--up inthat solemn office, where they made you feel so uncomfortable. She hadsaid: "Pudge Sheridan, you're killing yourself! Not one cent more forwrecking your stomach!"

She had called him "Pudge. " For months he had been reminding her thathis name was Percival. And he wasn't wrecking his stomach. That wassilly talk. He had eaten but two nut sundaes and a chocolate frappésince luncheon. It wasn't soda and candy that made him so fat. Somefolks just were fat, and some folks were thin. That was all there was_to_ it!

Pudge himself would have a private income when he was twenty-one. Sixyears off. .. And Billy Simmons in his white apron, was waiting now, onthe other side of the marble counter, for his order--and grinning ashe waited. Six years! Why, Pudge would be a man then--too old for nutsundaes and chocolate frappés, too far gone down the sober slope of lifeto enjoy anything!

Pudge wriggled nervously, locked his feet around behind the legs ofthe high stool, rubbed a fat forefinger on the edge of the counter, andwatched the finger intently with gloomy eyes. 

"Well, what'll it be, Pudge?" This from Billy Simmons. 

"My name ain't Pudge. "

"Very good, Mister Sheridan. What'll it be?"

"One of those chocolate marshmallow nut sundaes, I guess, if--if----"

"If what, Mister Sheridan?"

"--if, oh well, just charge it. "

Billy Simmons paused in the act of reaching for a sundae glass. Thesmile left his face. 

Pudge, though he did not once look up from that absorbing littleoperation with the fat forefinger, felt this pause and knew that Billy'sgrin had gone; and his own mouth drooped and drooped. It was a tensemoment. 

"You see, Pudge, " Billy began in some embarrassment, only to concluderather sharply, "I'll have to ask Mr. Humphrey. Your sister said weweren't----"

"Oh, well!" sighed Pudge. Getting down from the stool he waddled slowlyout of the store. 

It was no use going up against old Humphrey. He had tried that. He wentas far as the fire-plug, close to the corner, and sank down upon it. Everybody was against him. He would sit here awhile and think it over. Perhaps he could figure out some way of breaking through the conspiracy. Then Mr. Martin Jaffry drove up to the curb and he had to move his legs. Mr. Jaffry said, "Hello, Pudge, " too. It was all deeply annoying. 

Meantime, during the past half-hour, the law offices of Remington andEvans were not lacking in the sense of life and activity. Things beganmoving when Penny Evans (christened Penfield) came back from lunch. Hewore an air--Betty Sheridan noted, from her typewriter desk within therail--of determination. His nod toward herself was distinctly brusque; anew quality which gave her a moment's thought. And then when he hadhung up his hat and was walking past her to his own private office, heindulged in a faint, fleeting grin. 

Betty considered him. She had known Penny Evans as long as she couldremember knowing anybody; and she had never seen him look quite as helooked this afternoon. 

The buzzer sounded. It was absurd, of course; nobody else in theoffice. He could have spoken--you could hear almost every sound over theseven-foot partitions. 

She rose, waited an instant to insure perfect composure, smoothed downher trim shirtwaist, pushed back a straying wisp of her naturally wavyhair, picked up her notebook and three sharp pencils, and went quietlyinto his office. 

He sat there at his flat desk--his blond brows knit, his mouth firm, alight of eager good humor in his blue eyes. 

"Take this, " he said. .. Betty seated herself opposite him, and wasinstantly ready for work. 

". .. Memorandum. From rentals--the old Evans property on Ash Street, thetwo houses on Wilson Avenue South, and the factory lease in the SouthExtension, a total of slightly over $3600. 

"New paragraph. From investments in bonds, railway and municipal, anaverage the last four years of $2800. 

"New paragraph. From law practice, last year, over $4500. Will beconsiderably more this year. Total----"

"New paragraph?"

"No. Continue. Total, $10, 900. This year will be close to $12, 000. Don'tyou think that's a reasonably good showing for an unencumbered man oftwenty-seven?"

"Dictation--that last?"

"No, personal query, Penny to Betty. "

"Yes, then, it is very good. You want this in memorandum form. Anycarbons?"

"One carbon--in the form of a diamond--gift from Penny to Betty. " MissSheridan settled back in her chair, tapped her pretty mouth with herpencil, and surveyed the blond young man. Her eyes were blue--frank, capable eyes. 

"Penny, I like my work here----"

"I should hope so----"

"And I don't want to give it up. "

"Then don't. "

"I shall have to, Penny, if you don't stop breaking your word. It wasa definite agreement, you know. You were not to propose to me, on anyworking day, before seven P. M. This is a proposal of course----"

"Yes, of course, but I've just----"

"That makes twice this month, then, that you've broken the agreement. Now I can go on and put my mind on my work, if you'll let me. Otherwise, I shall have to get a job where they _will_ let me. "

"But, Betty, I've just this noon sat down and figured up where I stand. It has frightened me a little. I didn't realize I was taking in morethan ten thousand a year. And all of a sudden it struck me that I'vebeen an imbecile to wait, or make any agreement----"

"Then you broke it deliberately?"

"Absolutely. Betty--no fooling now; I'm in earnest----"

Studying him, she saw that he was intensely in earnest. 

"You see, child, I've tried to be patient because I know how you werebrought up, what you're used to. Why, I wouldn't dream of asking you tobe my wife unless I could feel pretty sure of being able to give youthe comforts you've always had and ought to have. But hang it, Betty, I_can_ do it right! I can give you a home that's worthy of you. Any time!This year, even!"

"Penny, do you think I care what your income is--for one minute?"

"Why--why----"

"When I'm earning twenty dollars a week myself and prouder of it than--"

"But that's absurd, Betty--for you to be working--as a stenographer, ofall things! A girl with your looks and your gifts and all that's back ofyou. "

"You mean that I should make marriage my profession?"

"Well--well----"

"Probably that's why we keep missing each other, Penny. I've pinned myflag to the principle of economic independence. You're looking fora girl who will marry for a living. There are lots of them. Pretty, attractive girls, too. Your difficulty is, you want that sort. Youreally believe all girls are that sort at heart, and you think myindependence a fad--something I shall get over. Don't you, now?"

"Well, I'll confess I can't see it as the normal thing. Yes, Ibelieve--I hope--you will get over it. "

"Well--" Miss Sheridan slammed her book shut and stood up--"I won't. "

She stepped to the door. 

"And the agreement stands. I want to keep on working. And I want to keepon being fond of you. That agreement is necessary to both desires. " Sheopened the door, hesitated and a hint of mischief flashed across herface. "I'll tell you just the person for you, Penny. Really. Marriage isher profession. She's very experienced. Temporarily out of a job--AlysBrewster-Smith. "

He snatched a carnation from the glass on his desk and threw it at her. It struck a closed door. 

 * * * * *

The outer door opened just then, and Mr. Martin Jaffry stepped in. Henodded, with his little quizzical smile, to the composed young woman whostood within the railing. 

"Anybody here, Betty?"

A slight movement of her prettily poised head indicated the door marked"Mr. Evans. " And she said, "Penny's there. "

"Is he shut up, too? His partner is too important to be seen today. "

"Oh no, " Betty replied, inscrutably sober, "he's not important. "

Mr. Jaffry wrinkled up his eyes, chuckled softly, then stepped to thedoor of the unimportant one. Before opening it, he turned. "Mrs. HarveyHerrington been in?"

"Twice with a committee. "

"Any idea what she wanted?"

Betty was aware that the whimsical and roundabout Mr. Jaffry kneweverything about everybody in Whitewater. She was further aware that hehad, undoubtedly, reasons of his own for questioning her. He wasalways asking questions, anyway. Worse than a Chinaman. And for somereason--perhaps because he was Martin Jaffry--you always answered hisquestions. 

"Yes, " said Betty. "She wants to pledge him to suffrage. "

"Umm! Yes, I see! You wouldn't be against that yourself, would you?"

"Naturally not. I'm secretary of the Second Ward Suffrage Club. "

"Umm! Yes, yes!" With which illuminating comment, Mr. Jaffry tapped onPenny Evans' door, opened it and entered. 

"Spare a minute?" he inquired. 

"Sure, " said Penny; "two, ten! Take a chair. "

"No, " replied Mr. Jaffry, "I won't take a chair. Think better onmy feet. I'm in a bit of a quandary. Suppose you tell me what thisimportant paper is that George is drawing up. Do you know?"

"I do. "

"Is he coming out against suffrage?"

"Flatly. "

"Umm!" Mr. Jaffry flicked his cap about. "I want to see George. Hemustn't do that. "

"Say, Mr. Jaffry, you haven't swung over----"

"Not at all. It's tactics. I ought to see him. "

"Why not run out to his house----"

"Just been there. Ran away. Some one there I'm afraid of. "

"Telephone?"

Mr. Jaffry shook his head and lowered his voice. 

"With Betty hearing it at this end, and the committee from the Antissitting it out down there--the telephone's on the stair landing----"

He pursed his lips, waved his cap slowly to and fro and observed itwith a whimsical expression on his sandy face, then glanced out of thewindow. He stepped closer, looking sharply down. A very fat boy withpink cheeks and a downcast expression was sitting on a fire-plug. Mr. Jaffry leaned out. 

"Pudge, " he called, "come up here a minute. "

On the Remington and Evans stationery he penciled a note, which hesealed. Then he scribbled another--to Mrs. George Remington, asking herto hand George the inclosure the moment he appeared from his work. Thetwo he slipped into a large envelope. The very fat boy stood before him. 

"Want to make a quarter, Pudge? Take this letter, right now, to Mrs. George Remington. Give it to her personally. It's the old Remingtonplace, you know. "

He felt in his change pocket. It was empty. He hesitated, turned toEvans, then, reconsidering, produced a dollar bill from another pocketand gave it to the boy. 

"Now run, " he said. 

The boy, speechless, turned and moved out of the office. His sisterspoke to him, but he did not turn his head. He rolled down the stairs tothe street, stood a moment in front of Humphrey's, drew a sudden breaththat was almost a gasp, waddled into the store, advanced directly on thesoda fountain, and with a blazing red face and angrily triumphant eyesconfronted Billy Simmons. 

"I'll take a chocolate marshmallow nut sundae, " he said. "And youneedn't be stingy with the marshmallow, either!"

 * * * * *

At ten minutes past four, the anxious Antis in the Remington living-roomheard the candidate for district attorney running down the stairs, andeven Mrs. Brewster-Smith was hushed. The candidate stopped, however, on the landing. They heard him lift the telephone receiver. He called anumber. Then----

"_Sentinel_ office?. .. Mr. Ledbetter, please. .. . Hello, Ledbetter!Remington speaking. I have that statement ready. Will you send a manaround?. .. Yes, right away. And I wish you'd put it on the wires. Display it just as prominently as you can, won't you?. .. Thanks. That'sfine! Good-by. "

He ran back upstairs. 

But shortly he appeared, wearing the distrait, exalted expression of thegenius who has just passed through the creative act. He looked very talland strong as he stood before the mantel, receiving the congratulationsof Mrs. Brewster-Smith and the timid admiration of Cousin Emelene. Hisfew words were well chosen and were uttered with dignity. 

"And now, dear Mr. Remington, I'm sure I don't need to ask you if youare taking the right stand on suffrage. " This from Mrs. Brewster-Smith. 

The candidate smiled tolerantly. 

"If unequivocal opposition is 'right'----"

"Oh, you dear man! I was sure we could count on you. Isn't it splendid, Geneviève!"

The reporters came. 

 * * * * *

It was a busy evening for the young couple. There were relatives fordinner. Other relatives and an old friend or two came later. Throughout, George wore that quietly exalted expression, and carried himself withthe new dignity. 

To the adoring Genevieve his chin had never appeared so long and strong, his thought had never seemed so elevated, his quiet self-respect hadnever been so commanding. He was no longer merely her George, he was nowa public figure. Soon he would be district attorney; then, very likely, Governor; then--well, Senator; and finally--it was possible--some onehad to be--President of the United States. He had begun, this day, bymaking a great decision, by stepping boldly out on principle, on moralprinciple, and announcing himself a defender of the home, of the right. 

At midnight, the last guest departed. George and Genevieve stepped outinto the summer moonlight and strolled arm in arm down the walk. 

Waddling up the street appeared a very fat boy. 

"Why, Pudge, " cried Geneviève, "what on earth are you doing out at thistime of night!"

"I'm going home, I tell you!" muttered the boy, on the defensive. Hecarried a large bag of what seemed to be chocolate creams, from which hewas eating. 

As he passed, a twinge of memory disturbed him. He fumbled in hispockets. 

"I was to give you this, " he said then; and leaving a crumpled envelopein Genevieve's hand, he walked on as rapidly as he could. 

A few minutes later, standing under the light in the front hall, GeorgeRemington read this penciled note:

"I stood ready to contribute more than I promised--any amount to putyou over. But if you give out a statement against suffrage you're a damnfool and I withdraw every cent. A man with no more political sense andskill than that isn't worth helping. You should have advised me. 

"M. J. "

CHAPTER II. BY HARRY LEON WILSON

It may have been surmised that our sterling young candidate for districtattorney had not yet become skilled in dalliance with the equivocal;that he was no adept in ambiguity; that he would confront all issueswith a rugged valiance susceptible of no misconstruction; that, inshort, George Remington was no trimmer. 

If he opposed an issue, one knew that he opposed it from the heart out. He said so and he meant it. And, being opposed to the dreadful heresyof equal suffrage, no reader of the Whitewater _Sentinel_ that morningcould say, as the shrewd so often say of our older statesmen, thatGeorge was "side-stepping. "

Not George's the mellow gift to say, in effect, that of course womanshould vote the instant she wishes to, though perhaps that day has notyet come. Meantime the speaker boldly defies the world to show a manholding woman in loftier regard than he does, or ready to accord her ahigher value in all true functions of the body politic. Equal suffrage, thank God, is inevitable at some future time, but until that gloriousday when we can be assured that the sex has united in a demand for it, it were perhaps as well not to cloud the issues of the campaign nowopening; though let it be understood, and he cannot put this tooplainly, that he reveres the memory of his gray-haired mother withoutwhose tender ministrations and wise guidance he could never have reachedthe height from which he now speaks. And so let us pass on to the votingon these canal bonds, the true inwardness of which, thanks to thevenal activities of a corrupt opposition, even an exclusively maleconstituency has thus far failed to comprehend. And so forth. 

Our hero, then, had yet to acquire this finesse. As we are nowprivileged to observe him, he is as easy to understand as themultiplication table, as little devious and, alas! as lacking insuavity. Yet, let us be fair to George. Mere innocence of guile, ofverbal trickery, had not alone sufficed for his passionate bluntness inthe present crisis. At a later stage in his career as a husband he mighthave been equally blunt; yet never again, perhaps, would he have been soemotional in his opposition to woman polluting herself with the mire ofpolitics. 

Be it recalled that but five weeks had elapsed since George had solemnlypromised to cherish and protect the fairest of the non-voting sex--atleast in his State--and he was still taking his mission seriously. As hewrote the words that were now electrifying, in a manner of speaking, the readers of the _Sentinel_, and of neighboring journals with enoughenterprise to secure them, he had beheld his own Genevieve, fine, flawless, tenderly nourished flower that she was, being dragged from herhigh place with the most distressing results. 

He saw her rushed from the sacred shelter of her home and made to attendprimaries; he saw her compelled to strive tearfully with problems thatrevolted all her finer instincts; he saw her insulted at polling booths;saw her voting in company with persons of both sexes whom one couldnever know. 

He saw her tainted, bruised, beaten down in the struggle, losing littleby little all sense of the holy values of Wife, Mother, Home. As hewrote he heard her weakening cries for help as she perished, and morethan once his left arm instinctively curved to shield her. 

Was it not for his wife, then; nay, for wifehood itself, that he wrote?And so, was it quite fair for unmarried Penfield Evans, burning athis breakfast table a cynical cigarette over the printed philippic, tomurmur, "Gee! old George _has_ spilled the beans!"

Simple words enough and not devoid of friendly concern. But should henot have divined that George had been appalled to his extremities ofspeech by the horrendous vision of his fair young bride being hurledinto depths where she would be obliged, if not to have opinions of herown, at least to vote with the rabble as he might decide they ought tovote?

And should not other critics known to us have divined the rackinganguish under which George had labored? For one, should not ElizabethSheridan, amateur spinster, have been all sympathy for one who waspalpably more an alarmed bridegroom than a mere candidate?

Should not her maiden heart have been touched by this plausible aspectof George's dilemma, rather than her mere brain to have been steeled toa humorous disparagement tinged with bitterness?

And yet, "What rot!" muttered Miss Sheridan, --"silly rot, bally rot, tommy rot, and all the other kinds!"

Hereupon she creased a brow not meant for creases and defaced anadmirable nose with grievous wrinkles of disdain. "Sacred names of wifeand mother!" This seemed regrettably like swearing as she deliveredit, though she quoted verbatim. "Sacred names of petted imbeciles!" sheamended. 

Then, with berserker fury, crumpling her _Sentinel_ into a ball, shevenomously hurled it to the depths of a waste basket and religiouslyrubbed the feel of it from her fingers. As she had not even glanced atthe column headed "Births, Deaths, Marriages, " it will be seen that heragitation was real. And surely a more discerning sympathy might havebeen looked for from the seasoned Martin Jaffry. A bachelor full ofyears and therefore with illusions not only unimpaired but ripened, whomore quickly than he should have divined that his nephew for the momentviewed all womankind as but one multiplied Genevieve, upon whom it wouldbe heinous to place the shackles of suffrage?

Perhaps Uncle Martin did divine this. Perhaps he was a mere trimmer, a rank side-stepper, steeped in deceit and ever ready to mouth theabominable phrase "political expediency. " It were rash to affirm this, for no analyst has ever fathomed the heart of a man who has come to hislate forties a bachelor by choice. One may but guess from the ensuingmeager data. 

Uncle Martin at a certain corner of Maple Avenue that morning, fellin with Penfield Evans, who, clad as the lilies of a florist's window, strode buoyantly toward his office, the vision of his day's toil pinklysuffused by an overlaying vision of a Betty or Sheridan character. Mr. Evans bubbled his greeting. "Morning! Have you seen it? Oh, _say_, haveyou seen it?"

The immediate manner of Uncle Martin not less than his subdued garbof gray, his dark gloves and his somber stick, intimated that he sawnothing to bubble about. 

"He has burned his bridges behind him. " The speaker looked as grim asany bachelor-by-choice ever may. 

"Regular little fire-bug, " blithely responded Mr. Evans, moderating hisstride to that of the other. 

"Can't understand it, " resumed the gloomy uncle. "I sent him word intime; sent it from your office by messenger. It was plain enough. I toldhim no money of mine would go into his campaign if he made a fool ofhimself--or words to that effect. "

"Phew! Cast you off, did he? Just like that?"

"Just like that! Went out of his way to overdo it, too. Needn't havecome out half so strong. No chance now to backwater--not a chanceon earth to explain what he really did mean--and make it somethingdifferent. " "Quixotic! That's how it reads to me. "

Uncle Martin here became oracular, his somber stick gesturing to pointhis words. 

"Trouble with poor George, he's been silly enough to blurt out thetruth, what every man of us thinks in his heart--"

"Eh?" said Mr. Evans quickly, as one who has been jolted. 

"No more sense than to come right out and say what every one of usthinks in his secret heart about women. I think it and you think it--"

"Oh, well, if you put it _that_ way, " admitted young Mr. Evansgracefully. "But of course--"

"Certainly, of _course!_ We all think it--sacred names of home andmother and all the rest of it; but a man running for office these daysis a chump to say so, isn't he? Of course he is! What chance does itleave him? Answer me that. "

"Darned little, if you ask me, " said Mr. Evans judicially. "Poor oldGeorge!"

"Talks as if he were going to be married tomorrow instead of its havingcome off five weeks ago, " pursued Uncle Martin bitterly. Plainly therewere depths of understanding in the man, trimmer though he might be. 

Mr. Evans made no reply. Irrationally he was considering the terms "fiveweeks" and "married" in relation to a spinster who would have professedto be indignant had she known it. 

"Got to pull the poor devil out, " said Uncle Martin, when in silencethey had traversed fifty feet more of the shaded side of Maple Avenue. 

"How?" demanded the again practical Mr. Evans. 

"Make him take it back; make him recant; swing him over the last weekbefore election. Make him eat his words with every sign of exquisiterelish. Simple enough!"

"How?" persisted Mr. Evans. 

"Wiles, tricks, subterfuges, chicanery--understand what I mean?"

"Sure! I understand what you mean as well as you do, but--come down tobrass tacks. "

"That's an entirely different matter, " conceded Uncle Martin gruffly. "It may take thought. "

"Oh, is that all? Very well then; we'll think. I, myself, will think. First, I'll have a talk with the sodden amorist. I'll grill him. I'llfind the weak spot in his armor. There must be something we can put overon him. "

"By fair means or foul, " insisted Uncle Martin as they paused at theparting of their ways. "Low-down, underhanded work--do you get what Imean?"

"I do, I do!" declared young Mr. Evans and broke once more into thebuoyant stride of an earlier moment. This buoyance was interrupted butonce, and briefly, ere he gained the haven of his office. 

As he stepped quite too buoyantly into Fountain Square, he was all butrun down by the new six-cylinder roadster of Mrs. Harvey Herrington, driven by the enthusiastic owner. He regained the curb in time, with aready and heartfelt utterance nicely befitting the emergency. 

The president of the Whitewater Women's Club, the Municipal League andthe Suffrage Society, brought her toy to a stop fifteen feet beyond hertoo agile quarry, with a fine disregard for brakes and tire surfaces. She beckoned eagerly to him she might have slain. She was a large womanwith an air of graceful but resolute authority; a woman good to lookupon, attired with all deference to the modes of the moment, andexhaling an agreeable sense of good-will to all. 

"Be careful always to look before you start across and you'll never haveto say such things, " was her greeting to Mr. Evans, as he halted besidethis minor juggernaut. 

"Sorry you heard it, " lied the young man readily. 

"Such a flexible little car--picks up before one realizes, " concededWhitewater's acknowledged social dictator. "But what I wanted to say isthis: that poor daft partner of yours has mortally offended every womanin town except three, with that silly screed of his. I've seen nearlyall of them that count this morning, or they've called me by telephone. Now, why couldn't he have had the advice of some good, capable womanbefore committing himself so rabidly?"

"Who were the three?" queried Mr. Evans. 

"Oh, poor Genevieve, of course; she goes without saying. And you'd guessthe other two if you knew them better--his cousin, Alys Brewster-Smith, and poor Genevieve's Cousin Emelene. They both have his horribleschool-boy composition committed to memory, I do believe. 

"Cousin Emelene recited most of it to me with tears in her weak eyes, and Alys tells me his noble words have made the world seem like adifferent place to her. She said she had been coming to believe thatchivalry of the old true brand was dying out, but that dear CousinGeorge has renewed her faith in it. 

"Think of poor Genevieve when they both fall on his neck. They're goingup for that particular purpose this afternoon. The only two in town, mind you, except poor Genevieve. Oh, it's too awfully bad, because asidefrom this medieval view of his, George was probably as acceptable forthis office as any man could be. "

The lady burdened the word "man" with a tiny but distinguishableemphasis. Mr. Evans chose to ignore this. 

"George's friends are going to take him in hand, " said he. "Of coursehe was foolish to come out the way he has, even if he did say only whatevery man believes in his secret heart. "

The president of the Whitewater Woman's Club fixed him with a glitteringand suddenly hostile eye. 

"What! you too?" she flung at him. He caught himself. He essayedexplanations, modifications, a better lighting of the thing. But at theexpiration of his first blundering sentence Mrs. Herrington, withher flexible little car, was narrowly missing an aged and carelesspedestrian fifty yards down the street. 

 * * * * *

"George come in yet?"

For the second time Mr. Evans was demanding this of Miss ElizabethSheridan who had also ignored his preliminary "Good morning!"

Now for a moment more she typed viciously. One would have said that thethriving legal business of Remington and Evans required the very swiftcompletion of the document upon which she wrought. And one would havebeen grossly deceived. The sheet had been drawn into the machine at themoment Mr. Evans' buoyant step had been heard in the outer hall, andupon it was merely written a dozen times the bald assertion, "Now is thetime for all good men to come to the aid of the party. "

Actually it was but the mechanical explosion of the performer's mood, rather than the wording of a sentiment now or at any happier timeentertained by her. 

At last she paused; she sullenly permitted herself to be interrupted. Her hands still hovered above the already well-punished keys of thetypewriter. She glanced over a shoulder at Mr. Evans and allowed him toobserve her annoyance at the interruption. 

"George has not come in yet, " she said coldly. "I don't think he willever come in again. I don't see how he can have the face to. I shouldn'tthink he could ever show himself on the street again after that--that--"

The young woman's emotion overcame her at this point. Again herrelentless fingers stung the blameless mechanism--"to come to the aid ofthe party. Now is the time for all good--" She here controlled herselfto further speech. "And _you!_ Of course you applaud him for it. Oh, Iknew you were all alike!"

"Now look here, Betty, this thing has gone far enough----"

"Far enough, indeed!"

"But you won't give me a chance!"

Mr. Evans here bent above his employee in a threatening manner. 

"You don't even ask what I think about it. You say I'm guilty and oughtto be shot without a trial--not even waiting till sunrise. If you hadthe least bit of fairness in your heart you'd have asked me what Ireally thought about this outbreak of George's, and I'd have told you inso many words that I think he's made all kinds of a fool of himself. "

"No! Do you really, Pen?"

Miss Sheridan had swiftly become human. She allowed her eyes to meetthose of Mr. Evans' with an easy gladness but little known to him oflate. "Of course I do, Betty. The idea of a candidate for office in thisenlightened age breaking loose in that manner! It's suicide. He could bearrested for the attempt in this State. Is that strong enough for you?You surely know how I feel now, don't you? Come on, Betty dear! Let'snot spar in that foolish way any longer. Remember all I said yesterday. It goes double today--really, I see things more clearly. "

Plainly Miss Sheridan was disarmed. 

"And I thought you'd approve every word of his silly tirade, " shemurmured. Mr. Evans, still above her, was perilously shaken by thesofter note in her voice, but he controlled himself in time and satin one of the chairs reserved for waiting clients. It was near MissSheridan, yet beyond reaching distance. He felt that he must be cool inthis moment of impending triumph. 

"Wasn't it the awfullest rot?" demanded the spinster, pounding out a rowof periods for emphasis. 

"And he's got to be made to eat his words, " said Mr. Evans, wiselytaking the same by-path away from the one subject in all the world thatreally mattered. 

"Who could make him?"

"I could, if I tried. " It came in quiet, masterful tones that almostconvinced the speaker himself. 

"Oh, Pen, if you could! Wouldn't that be a victory, though? If you onlycould----"

"Well, if I only could--and if I do?" His intention was too pointed tobe ignored. 

"Oh, _that_!" He winced at the belittling "that. " "Of course I couldn'tpromise--anyway I don't believe you could ever do it, so what's the useof being silly?"

"But you will--will you promise, if I _do_ convert George? Answer thequestion, please!" Mr. Evans glared as only actual district attorneyshave the right to. 

"Oh, what nonsense--but, well, I'll promise--I'll promise to promise tothink very seriously about it indeed, if you bring George around. "

"Betty!" It was the voice of an able pleader and he half arose from hischair, his arms eloquent of purpose. "'Now is the time for all goodmen to come to the aid of the party. Now is the time for'--" wrote MissSheridan with dazzling fingers, and the pleader resumed his seat. 

"How will you bring him 'round, " she then demanded. 

"Wiles, tricks, stratagems, " replied the rising young diplomat moodily, smarting under the moment's defeat. 

"Serve him right for pulling all that old-fashioned nonsense, " said MissSheridan, and accorded her employer a glance in which admiration for hisprowess was not half concealed. 

"The words of a fool wise in his own folly, " went on the encouraged Mr. Evans, and then, alas! a victim to the slight oratorical thrill thesewords brought him, --"honestly uttering what every last man believesand feels about woman in his heart and yet what no sane man running foroffice can say in public--here, what's the matter?"

The latter clause had been evoked by the sight of a blazing MissSheridan, who now stood over him with fists tightly clenched. "Oh, oh, oh!" This was low, tense, thrilling. It expressed horror. "So that'swhat your convictions amount to! Then you do applaud him, every wordof him, and you were deceiving me. Every man in his own heart, indeed. Thank heaven I found you out in time!"

It may be said that Mr. Evans now cowered in his chair. The term is nottoo violent. He ventured to lift a hand in weak protest. 

"No, no, Betty, you are being unjust to me again. I meant that that waswhat Martin Jaffry told me this morning. It isn't what I believe at all. I tell you my own deepest sentiments are exactly what yours are in thisgreat cause which--which--"

Painfully he became aware of his own futility. Miss Sheridan had ceasedto blaze. Seated again before the typewriter she grinned at him withamused incredulity. 

"You nearly had me going, Pen. "

Mr. Evans summoned the deeper resources of his manhood and achieved aneasier manner. He brazenly returned her grin. "I'll have you going againbefore I'm through--remember that. "

"By wiles, tricks and stratagems, I suppose. "

"The same. By those I shall make poor George recant, and by those, assuming you to be a woman with a fine sense of honor who will hold apromise sacred, I shall have you going. And, mark my words, you'll begoing good, too!"

"Silly!"

She drew from the waste basket the maltreated _Sentinel_, unfurled it toexpose the offending matter, and smote the column with the backs of fouraccusing fingers. 

"There, my dear, is your answer. Now run along like a good boy. "

"Silly!" said Mr. Evans, striving for a masterly finish to the unequalcombat. He arose, dissembling cheerful confidence, straightened theframe of a steel-engraved Daniel Webster on the wall, and thrice pacedthe length of the room, falsely appearing to be engaged in deep thought. 

Miss Sheridan, apparently for mere exclamatory purposes, now reread thefulmination of the absent partner. She scoffed, she sneered, flouted, derided, and one understood that she was including both members of thefirm. Then her listener became aware that she had achieved coherence. 

"Indeed, yes! Do you know what ought to happen to him? Every unprotectedfemale in this county ought to pack her trunk and trudge right up tothe Remington place and say, 'Here we are, noble man! We have read yourburning words in which you offer to protect us. Save us from the vote!Let your home be our sanctuary. That's what you mean if you meantanything but tommy-rot. Here and now we throw ourselves upon yourboasted chivalry. Where are our rooms, and what time is luncheonserved. '"

"Here! Just say that again, " called Mr. Evans from across the room. MissSheridan obliged. She elaborated her theme. George should be taken athis word by every weak flower of womanhood. If women were nothingbut ministering angels, it was "up to" George to give 'em a chance tominister. 

So went Miss Sheridan's improvisation and Mr. Evans, suffering thethroes of a mighty inspiration, suddenly found it sweetest music. 

When Miss Sheridan subsided, Mr. Evans appeared to have forgotten thecause of their late encounter. Whistling cheerily he bustled into hisown office, mumbling of matters that had to be "gotten off. " For somemoments he busied himself at his desk, then emerged to dictate threebusiness letters to his late antagonist. 

He dictated in a formal and distant manner, pausing in the midst of thelast letter to spell out the word "analysis, " which he must have knownwould enrage her further. Then, quite casually, he wished to be toldif she might know the local habitat of Mrs. Alys Brewster-Smith and acertain Cousin Emelene. His manner was arid. 

Miss Sheridan chanced to know that the ladies were sheltered in theexclusive boarding-house of one Mrs. Gallup, out on Erie Street, andinformed him to this effect in the fewest possible words. Mr. Evanswhistled absently a moment, then formally announced that he should beabsent from the office for perhaps an hour. Hat, gloves and stick inhand, he was about to nod punctiliously to the back of Miss Sheridan'shead when the door opened to admit none other than our hero, GeorgeRemington. George wore the look of one who is uplifted and who yet hasfound occasion to be thoughtful about it. Penfield Evans grasped hishand and shook it warmly. 

"Fine, George, old boy--simply corking! Honestly, I didn't believe youhad it in you. You covered the ground and you did it in a big way. Ittook nerve, all right! Of course you probably know that every woman intown is speaking of your young wife as 'poor Genevieve, ' but you've hadthe courage of your convictions. It's great!"

"Thanks, old man! I've spoken for the right as I saw it, let come whatmay. By the way, has Uncle Martin been in this morning, or telephoned, or sent any word?"

Miss Sheridan coldly signified that none of these things had occurred, whereupon George sighed in an interesting manner and entered his ownroom. 

Mr. Evans had uttered his congratulations in clear, ringing tones andMiss Sheridan, even as she wrote, contrived with her trained shouldersto exhibit to his lingering eye an overwhelming contempt for hisopinions and his double-dealing. 

In spite of which he went out whistling, and dosed the door in a defiantmanner. 

CHAPTER III. BY FANNIE HURST

Destiny, busybody that she is, has her thousand irons in her perpetualfires, turning, testing and wielding them. 

While Miss Betty Sheridan, for another scornful time, was rereading thewell-thumbed copy of the _Sentinel_, her fine back arched like a prizecat's, George Remington in his small mahogany office adjoining, neck lowand heels high, was codifying, over and over again, the small planksof his platform, stuffing the knot holes which afforded peeps to theopposite side of the issue with anti-putty, and planning a bombardmentof his pattest phrases for the complete capitulation of his UncleJaffry. 

While Genevieve Remington in her snug library, so eager in herwifeliness to clamber up to her husband's small planks, and if needbe, spread her prettily flounced skirts over the rotting places, wasmemorizing, with more pride than understanding, extracts from thecontroversial article for quotation at the Woman's Club meeting, Mr. Penfield Evans, with a determination which considerably expanded hisconsiderable chest measurement, ran two at a bound up the white stonesteps of Mrs. Gallup's private boarding-house and pulled out the whitechina knob of a bell that gave no evidence of having sounded within, andleft him uncertain to ring again. 

A cast-iron deer, with lichen growing along its antlers, stood poisedfor instant flight in Mrs. Gallup's front yard. 

While Mr. Evans waited he regarded its cast-iron flanks, but notseeingly. His rather the expression of one who stares into the futureand smiles at what he sees. 

Erie Street, shaded by a double row of showy chestnuts, lay in summercalm. A garden hose with a patent attachment spun spray over anadjoining lawn and sent up a greeny smell. Out from under the stripedawning of Hassebrock's Ice Cream Parlor, cat-a-corner, PercivalPauncefort Sheridan, in rubber-heeled canvas shoes and white trousers, cuffed high, emerged and turned down Huron Street, making frequentforays into a bulging rear pocket. 

Miss Lydia Chipley, vice-president of the Busy Bee Sewing and CivicClub, cool, starchy and unhatted, clicked past on slim, trim heels, all radiated by the reflection from a pink parasol, gay embroidery bagdangling. 

"Hello, Lyd!"

"Hello, Pen!"

"What's your hurry?"

"It's my middle name. "

"Why hurry, when the future is always waiting?"

"Why aren't you holding your partner's head since he committed politicalsuicide in the _Sentinel_?"

"I'd rather hold your head, Lyd, any day in the week. "

"Gaul, " said Miss Chipley, passing on, her sharply etched little faceglowing in the pink reflection of the parasol, "is bounded on the northby Mrs. Gallup's boarding-house, and on the south by----"

"By the Frigid Zone!"

Then the door from behind swung open. Mr. Penfield Evans stepped intoMrs. Gallup's cool, exclusive parlor of better days, and delivering hiscard to a moist-fingered maid, sat himself among the shrouded furnitureto await Mrs. Alys Brewster-Smith and Miss Emelene Brand. 

Mrs. Gallup's boarding-house was finishing its noonday meal. Boiledodors lay upon a parlor that was otherwise redolent of the more opulentdays of the Gallups. A not too ostentatious clatter of dishes camethrough the closed folding-doors. 

Almost immediately Mrs. Alys Brewster-Smith, her favorite ConcentratedBreath of the Lily always in advance, rustled into the darkened parlor, her stride hitting vigorously into her black taffeta skirts. Even as sheshook hands with Mr. Evans, she jerked the window shade to its height, so that her smoothness and coloring shone out above her weeds. 

In the shadow of her and at her life job of bringing up the rear, witha large Maltese cat padding beside her, entered Miss Brand on rubberheels. She was the color of long twilight. 

Mr. Evans rose to his six-feet-in-his-stockings and extended them each ahand, Miss Emelene drawing the left. 

Mrs. Smith threw up a dainty gesture, black lace ruffles falling backfrom arms all the whiter because of them. 

"Well, Penny Evans!"

"None other, Mrs. Smith, than the villain himself. "

"Be seated, Penfield. "

"Thanks, Miss Emelene. "

They drew up in a triangle beside the window overlooking the cast-irondeer. The cat sprang up, curling in the crotch of Miss Emelene's arm. 

"Nice ittie kittie, say how-do to big Penny-field-Evans. Say how-do tobig man. Say how-do, muvver's ittie kittie. " Miss Emelene extendedthe somewhat reluctant Maltese paw, five hook-shaped claws slightly inevidence. 

"Say how-do to Hanna, Penfield. Hanna, say how-do to big man. " "How-do, Hanna, " said Mr. Evans, reddening slightly beneath his tan. Then hitchedhis chair closer. 

"To what, " he began, flashing his white smile from one to the other ofthem, and with a strong veer to the facetious, "are we indebted for thehonor of this visit? Are those the unspoken words, ladies?"

"Nothing wrong at home, Penfield? Nobody ailing or--"

"No, no, Miss Emelene, never better. As a matter of fact, it's a pieceof political business that has prompted me to--"

At that Mrs. Smith jangled her bracelets, leaning forward on her knees. 

"If it's got anything to do with your partner and my cousin GeorgeRemington having the courage to go in for the district attorneyshipwithout the support of the vote-hunting, vote-eating women of this town, I'm here to tell you that I'm with him heart and soul. He can have mysupport and--"

"Mine too. And if I've got anything to say my two nephews will vote forhim; and I think I have, with my two heirs. "

"Ladies, it fills my heart with joy to--"

"Votes! Why what would the powder-puffing, short-skirted, bridge-playingwomen of this town do with the vote if they had it? Wear it around theirnecks on a gold chain?"

"Well spoken, Mrs. Smith, if--"

"I know the direction you lean, Penfield Evans, letting--"

"But, Miss Emelene, I--"

"Letting that shameless Betty Sheridan, a girl that had as sweet andwomanly a mother as Whitewater ever boasted, lead you around by thenose on her suffrage string. A girl with her raising and both of hergrandmothers women that lived and died genteel, to go traipsing aroundin her low heels in men's offices and addressing hoi polloi from soapboxes! Why, between her and that female chauffeur, Mrs. Herrington, another woman whose mother was of too fine feelings even to join theDelsarte class, the women of this town are being influenced to makingdisgraceful--dis--oh, what shall I say, Alys?"

Here Mrs. Smith broke in, thumping a soft fist into a soft palm. 

"It's the most pernicious movement, Mr. Evans, that has ever got hold ofthis community and we need a man like my cousin George Remington to--"

"But, Mrs. Smith, that's just what I--"

"To stamp it out! Stamp it out! It's eating into the homes ofWhitewater, trying to make breadwinners out of the creatures Godintended for the bread-eaters--I mean bread-bakers. "

"But, Mrs. Smith, I--"

"Woman's place has been the home since home was a cave, and it willbe the home so long as women will remember that womanliness is theirgreatest asset. As poor dear Mr. Smith was so fond of saying, he--Ican't bring myself to talk of him, Mr. Evans, but--but as he used tosay, I--I--"

"Yes, yes, Mrs. Smith, I understa--"

"But as my cousin says in his article, which in my mind should be spreadbroadcast, what higher mission for woman than--than--just what are hiswords, Emelene?"

Miss Brand leaned forward, her gaze boring into space. 

"What higher mission, " she quoted, as if talking in a chapel, "for womanthan that she sit enthroned in the home, wielding her invisible butmighty scepter from that throne, while man, kissing the hand that solovingly commands him, shall bear her gifts and do her bidding. That isthe strongest vote in the world. That is the universal suffrage whichchivalry grants to woman. The unpolled vote! Long may it reign!"

Round spots of color had come out on Miss Emelene's long cheeks. 

"A man who can think like that has the true--the true--what shall I say, Alys?"

"But, ladies, I protest that I'm not--"

"Has the true chivalry of spirit, Emelene, that the women are too starkraving mad to appreciate. You can't come here, Mr. Evans, to two womento whom womanliness and love of home, thank God, are still uppermost andtry to convert us to--"

Here Mr. Evans executed a triple gyration, to the annoyance of Hanna, who withdrew from the gesture, and raised his voice to a shout that wasnot without a note of command. 

"Convert you! Why women alive, what I've been bursting a blood vesseltrying to say during the length of this interview is that I'd as soondip my soul in boiling oil as try to convert you away from the cause. _My_ cause! _Our_ cause!"

"Why--"

"I'm here to tell you that I'm with my partner head-over-heels on theplank he has taken. "

"But we thought--"

"We thought you and Betty Sheridan--why, my cousin Genevieve Remingtontold me that--"

"Yes, yes, Miss Emelene. But not even the wiles of a pretty woman canhold out indefinitely against Truth! A broad-minded man has got tokeep the door of his mind open to conviction, or it decays of mildew. Iconfess that finally I am convinced that if there is one platform morethan another upon which George Remington deserves his election it is onthe brave and chivalrous principles he has so courageously come out within the current _Sentinel_. Whatever may have been between Betty Sheridanand--"

"Mr. Evans, you don't mean to tell me that you and Betty Sheridan havequarreled! Such a desirable match from every point of view, family andall! It goes to show what a rattle-pated bunch of women they are! Anyreally clever girl with an eye to her future, anti or pro, could shifther politics when it came to a question of matri--"

"Mrs. Smith, there comes a time in every modern man's life when he's gotto keep his politics and his pretty girls separate, or suffrage will gethim if he don't watch out!"

"Yes, and Mr. Evans, if what I hear is true, a good-looking woman cantalk you out of your safety deposit key!"

"That's where you're wrong, Mrs. Smith, and I'll prove it to you. Despite any wavering I may have exhibited, I now stand, as George putsit in his article, 'ready to conserve the threatened flower of womanhoodby also endeavoring to conserve her unpolled vote!' If you women wantprohibition, it is in your power to sway man's vote to prohibition. If you women want the moon, let man cast your proxy vote for it! In mymind, that is the true chivalry. To quote again, 'Woman is man'srarest heritage, his beautiful responsibility, and at all times hisco-operation, support and protection are due her. His support andprotection. '"

Miss Emelene closed her eyes. The red had spread in her cheeks and shelaid her head back against the chair, rocking softly and stroking thethick-napped cat. 

"The flower of womanhood, " she repeated. "'His support and hisprotection. ' If ever a man deserved high office because of highprinciples, it's my cousin George Remington! My cousin GenevieveLivingston Remington is the luckiest girl in the world, and not one ofus Brands but what is willing to admit it. My two nephews, too, if theirAunt Emelene has anything to say, and I think she has--"

"Why, there isn't a stone in the world I wouldn't turn to see that boyin office, " Mrs. Smith interrupted. 

At that Mr. Evans rose. 

"You mean that, Mrs. Smith?"

Miss Emelene rose with him, the cat pouring from her lap. 

"Of course she means it, Penfield. What self-respecting woman wouldn't!"

Mr. Evans sat down again suddenly, Miss Emelene with him, and leaningviolently forward, thrust his eager, sun-tanned face between the twowomen. 

"Well, then, ladies, here's your chance to prove it! That's what bringsme today. As two of the self-respecting, idealistic and womanly women ofthis community, I have come to urge you both to--"

"Oh, Mr. Evans!"

"Penfield, you are the flatterer!"

"To induce two such representative women as yourselves to help mypartner to the election he so well deserves. "

"Us?" "It is in your power, ladies, to demonstrate to Whitewater thatGeorge Remington's chivalry is not only on paper, but in his soul. "

"But--how?"

"By throwing yourselves upon his generosity and hospitality, at leastduring the campaign. You have it in your power, ladies, to strengthenthe only uncertain plank upon which George Remington stands today. "

A clock ticked roundly into a silence tinged with eloquence. The Malteseleaped back into Miss Emelene's lap, purring there. 

"You mean, Penfield, for us to go visit George--er--er--"

"Just that! Bag and baggage. As two relatives and two unattached women, it is your privilege, nay, your right. "

"But--"

"He hasn't come out in words with it, but he has intimated that such anact from the representative antis of this town would more than anythingstrengthen his theories into facts. As unattached women, particularly aswomen of his own family, his support and protection, as he puts it, aredue you, _due_ you!"

Mrs. Smith clasped her plentifully ringed fingers, and regarded him withher prominent eyes widening. 

"Why, I--unprotected widow that I am, Mr. Evans, am not the one to forcemyself even upon my cousin if--"

"Nor I, Penfield. It would be a pleasant enough change, heaven knows, from the boarding-house. But you can ask your mother, Penfield, if thereever was a prouder girl in all Whitewater than Emmy Brand. I--"

"But I tell you, ladies, the obligation is all on George's part. It'sjust as if you were polling votes for him. What is probably the oldestadage in the language, states that actions speak louder than words. Give him his chance to spread broadcast to your sex his protection, hissupport. That, ladies, is all I--we--ask. "

"But I--Genevieve--the housekeeping, Penfield. Genevieve isn't much onmanagement when it comes to--" "Housekeeping! Why, I have it from yourfair cousin herself, Miss Emelene, that her idea of their new littlehome is the Open House. "

"Yes, but--as Emelene says, Mr. Evans, it's an imposition to--"

"Why do you think, Mrs. Smith, Martin Jaffry spends all his eveningsup at Remingtons' since they're back from their honeymoon? Why, he wastelling me only last night it's for the joy of seeing that new littleniece of his lording it over her well-oiled little household, where afew extra dropping in makes not one whit of difference. "

At this remark, embedded like a diamond in a rock, a shade of faintestcolor swam across Mrs. Smith's face and she swung him her profile andtwirled at her rings. 

"And where Genevieve Remington's husband's interests are involved, ladies, need I go further in emphasizing your welcome into that littlehome?"

"Heaven knows it would be a change from the boarding-house, Alys. Thelunches here are beginning to go right against me! That sago puddingtoday--and Gallup knowing how I hate starchy desserts!"

"For the sake of the cause, Miss Emelene, too!"

"Gallup would have to hold our rooms at half rate. "

"Of course, Mrs. Smith. I'll arrange all that. "

"I--I can't go over until evening, with three trunks to pack. "

"Just fine, Mrs. Smith. You'll be there just in time to greet George atdinner. "

Miss Emelene fell to stroking the cat, again curled like a sardelle inher lap. 

"Kitti-kitti-kitti--, does muvver's ittsie Hanna want to go on visit toTousin George in fine new ittie house? To fine Tousin Georgie what giveittsie Hanna big saucer milk evvy day? Big fine George what like ladiesand lady kitties!"

"Emelene, it's out of the question to take Hanna. You know how GeorgeRemington hates cats! You remember at the Sunday School Bazaar when--"A grimness descended like a mask over Miss Brand's features. Her mouththinned. 

"Very well, then. Without Hanna you can count me out, Penfield. If--"

"No, no! Why nonsense, Miss Emelene! George doesn't--"

"This cat has the feelings and sensibilities of a human being. "

"Why of course, " cried Penfield Evans, reaching for his hat. "Justyou bring Hanna right along, Miss Emelene. That's only a pet pose ofGeorge's when he wants to tease his relatives, Mrs. Smith. I rememberfrom college--why I've seen George _kiss_ a cat!"

Miss Emelene huddled the object of controversy up in her chin, talkingdown into the warm gray fur. 

"Was 'em tryin' to 'buse muvver's ittsie bittsie kittsie? Muvver'sittsie bittsie kittsie!"

They were in the front hall now, Mr. Evans tugging at the door. 

"I'll run around now and arrange to have your trunks called for at five. My congratulations and thanks, ladies, for helping the right man towardthe right cause. "

"You're _sure_, Penfield, we'll be welcome?"

"Welcome as the sun that shines!"

"If I thought, Penfield, that Hanna wouldn't be welcome I wouldn't budgea step. "

"Of course she's welcome, Miss Emelene. Isn't she of the gentler sex?There'll be a cab around for you and Mrs. Smith and Hanna about five. Solong, Mrs. Smith, and many thanks. Miss Emelene, Hanna. "

On the outer steps they stood for a moment in a dapple of sunshine andshadow from chestnut trees. 

"Good-by, Mr. Evans, until evening. "

"Good-by, Mrs. Smith. " He paused on the walk, lifting his hat andflashing his smile a third time. 

"Good-by, Miss Emelene. "

From the steps Miss Brand executed a rotary motion with the left paw ofthe dangling Maltese. 

"Tell nice gentleman by-by. Tum now, Hanna, get washed and new ribbon togo by-by. Her go to big Cousin George and piddy Cousin Genevieve. By-by!By-by!"

The door swung shut, enclosing them. Down the quiet, tree-shapedsidewalk, Mr. Penfield Evans strode into the somnolent afternoon, turning down Huron Street. At the remote end of the block and beforeher large frame mansion of a thousand angles and wooden lace work, Mrs. Harvey Herrington's low car sidled to her curb-stone, racy-looking as ahound. That lady herself, large and modish, was in the act of steppingup and in. 

"Well, Pen Evans! 'Tis writ in the book our paths should cross. "

"Who more pleased than I?"

"Which way are you bound?"

"Jenkins' Transfer and Cab Service. "

"Jump in. "

"No sooner said than done. "

Mrs. Herrington threw her clutch and let out a cough of steam. Theyjerked and leaped forward. From the rear of the car an orange and blackpennant--_Votes for Women_--stiffened out like a semaphore against thebreeze. 

CHAPTER IV. BY DOROTHY CANFIELD

Genevieve Remington sat in her pretty drawing-room and watched the hourhand of the clock slowly approach five. Five was a sacred hour in herday. At five George left his office, turned off the business-currentwith a click and turned on, full-voltage, the domestic-affectionate. 

Genevieve often told her girl friends that she only began really tolive after five, when George was restored to her. She assured themthe psychical connection between George and herself was so close that, sitting alone in her drawing-room, she could feel a tingling thrillall over when the clock struck five and George emerged from his officedowntown. 

On the afternoon in question she received her five o'clock electricthrill promptly on time, although history does not record whether or notGeorge walked out from his office at that moment. With all due respectfor the world-shaking importance of Mr. Remington's movements, it mustbe stated that history had, on that afternoon, other more importantevents to chronicle. 

As the clock struck five, the front doorbell rang. Marie, the maid, wentto open the door. Genevieve adjusted the down-sweeping, golden-browntress over her right eye, brushed an invisible speck from the piano, straightened a rose in a vase, and after these traditionally bridalpreparations, waited with a bride's optimistic smile the advent of acaller. But it was Marie who appeared at the door, with a stricken faceof horror. 

"Mrs. Remington! Mrs. Remington!" she whispered loudly. "They've come tostay. The men are getting their trunks down from the wagon. "

"_Who_ has come to stay? _Where?_" queried the startled bride. 

"The two ladies who came to call yesterday!"

"_Oh!_" said the relieved Genevieve. "There's some mistake, of course. If it's Cousin Emelene and Mrs. ----"

She advanced into the hall and was confronted by two burly men with avery large trunk between them. 

"Which room?" said one of them in a bored and insolent voice. 

"Oh, you must have come to the wrong house, " Genevieve assured them withher pretty, friendly smile. 

She was so happy and so convinced of the essential rightness of a worldwhich had produced George Remington that she had a friendly smile forevery one, even for unshaven men who kept their battered derby hatson their heads, had viciously smelling cigars in their mouths, andpenetrated to her sacred front hall with trunks which belonged somewhereelse. 

"Isn't this G. L. Remington's house?" inquired one of the men, droppinghis end of the trunk and consulting a dirty slip of paper. 

"Yes, it is, " admitted Genevieve, thrilling at the thought that it wasalso hers. "This is the place all right, then, " said the man. He heavedup his end of the trunk again, and said once more, "Which room?"

The repetition fell a little ominously on Genevieve's ear. What on earthcould be the matter?

She heard voices outside and craning her soft white neck, she saw CousinEmelene, with her gray kitten under one arm and a large suitcase in herother hand, coming up the steps. There was a beatific expression in hergentle, faded eyes, and her lips were quivering uncertainly. When shecaught sight of Genevieve's sweet face back of the bored expressmen, shegave a little cry, ran forward, set down her suitcase and clasped heryoung cousin in her arms. 

"Oh Genevieve dear, that noble wonderful husband of yours! What have youdone to deserve such a man. .. Out of this Age of Gold!"

This was a sentiment after Genevieve's own heart, but she found itrather too vague to meet the present somewhat tense situation. 

Cousin Emelene went on, clasping her at intervals, and talking veryfast. "I can hardly believe it! Now that my time of trial is all overI don't mind telling you that I was growing embittered and cynical. Allthose phrases my dear mother had brought me to believe, the sanctity ofthe home, the chivalrous protection of men, the wicked folly of womenwho leave the home to engage in fierce industrial struggle. ". .. At aboutthis point the expressmen set the trunk down, put their hands on theirhips, cocked their hats at a new angle and waited in gloomy ennui forthe conversation to stop. Cousin Emelene flowed on, her voice unsteadywith a very real emotion. 

"See, dear, you must not blame me for my lack of faith. .. But see how itlooked to me. There I was, as womanly a woman as ever breathed, and yet_I_ had no home to be sanctified, _I_ had never had a bit of chivalrousprotection from any man. And with the New Haven stocks shrinking fromone day to the next, the way they do, it looked as though I would eitherhave to starve or engage in the wicked, unwomanly folly of earningmy own living. Do you know, dear Genevieve, I had almost come to thepoint--you know how the suffragists do keep banging away at theirpoints--I almost wondered if perhaps they were right and if men reallymean those things about protection and support in place of the vote. .. . And then George's splendid, noble-spirited article appeared, and a kindfriend interpreted it for me and told what it really meant, for _me_!Oh, Genevieve. ". .. The tears rose to her mild eyes, her gentle, flatvoice faltered, she took out a handkerchief hastily. "It seemed too goodto be true, " she said brokenly into its folds. "I've longed all my lifeto be protected, and now I'm going to be!"

"Which room, please?" said the expressman. "We gotta be goin' on. "

Genevieve pinched herself hard, jumped and said "_ouch_. " Yes, she wasawake, all right!

"Oh, Marie, will you please get Hanna a saucer of milk?" said CousinEmelene now, seeing the maid's round eyes glaring startled from thedining-room door. "And just warm it a little bit, don't scald it. Shewon't touch it if there's the least bit of a scum on it. Just take thatice-box chill off. Here, I'll go with you this time. Since we're goingto live here now, you'll have to do it a good many times, and I'd bettershow you just how to do it right. "

She disappeared, leaving a trail of caressing baby-talk to the effectthat she would take good care of muvver's ittie bittie kittie. 

She left Genevieve for all practical purposes turned to stone. She feltas though she were stone, from head to foot, and she could open hermouth no more than any statue when, in answer to the next repetition, very peremptory now, of "Which room?" a voice as peremptory called fromthe open front door, "Straight upstairs; turn to your right, first dooron the left. "

As the men started forward, banging the mahogany banisters with thecorners of the trunk at every step, Mrs. Brewster-Smith stepped in, immaculate as to sheer collar and cuffs, crisp and tailored as to suit, waved and netted as to hair, and chilled steel and diamond point as towill-power. 

"Oh, Genevieve, I didn't see _you_ there! I didn't know why they stoodthere waiting so long. I know the house so well I knew of course whichroom you'll have for guests. _Dear_ old house! It will be like returningto my childhood to live here again!" She cocked an ear toward the upperregions and frowned, but went on smoothly. 

"Such happy girlhood hours as I have passed here! After all there isnothing like the home feeling, is there, for us women at any rate!We're the natural conservatives, who cling to the simple, elementalsatisfactions, and there's a heart-hunger that can only be satisfiedby a home and a man's protection! I thought George's description toobeautiful . .. In his article you know. .. Of the ideal home with thewomen of the family safe within its walls, protected from the savageryof the economic struggle which only men in their strength can bearwithout being crushed. "

She turned quickly and terribly to the expressmen coming down the stairsand said in so fierce a voice that they shrank back visibly, "There'sanother trunk to take up to the room next to that. And if you let itdown with the bang you did this one, you'll get something that willsurprise you! Do you hear me!"

They shrank out, cowed and tiptoeing. Mrs. Brewster-Smith turned backto her young cousin-by-marriage and murmured, "That was such a trueand deep saying of George's. .. Wherever does such a young man get hiswisdom!. .. That women are not fitted by nature to cope with hostileforces!"

Cousin Emelene approached from behind the statue of Genevieve, stillfrozen in place with an expression of stupefaction on her white face. The older woman put her arms around the bride's neck and gave her anaffectionate hug. 

"Oh, dearest Jinny, doesn't it seem like a dream that we're all going tobe together, all we women, in a real home, with a real man at the headof it to direct us and give us of his strength! It does seem just likethat beautiful old-fashioned home that George drew such an exquisitepicture of, in his article, where the home was the center of the worldto the women in it. It will be to me, I assure you, dear. I feel asthough I had come to a haven, and as though I _never_ would want toleave it!"

The expressmen were carrying up another trunk now, and so conscious ofthe glittering eyes of mastery upon them that they carried it as thoughit were the Ark of the Covenant and they its chosen priests. Mrs. Brewster-Smith followed them with a firm tread, throwing over hershoulder to the stone Genevieve below, "Oh, my dear, little Eleanorand her nurse will be in soon. Frieda was taking Eleanor for her usualafternoon walk. Will you just send them upstairs when they come! Isuppose Frieda will have the room in the third story, that extra roomthat was finished off when Uncle Henry lived here. Emelene, you'd bettercome right up, too, if you expect to get unpacked before dinner. "

She disappeared, and Emelene fluttered up after her, drawn along bysuction, apparently, like a sheet of paper in the wake of a train. The expressmen came downstairs, still treading softly, and went out. Genevieve was alone again in her front hall. To her came tiptoeingMarie, with wide eyes of query and alarm. And from Marie's questioningface, Genevieve fled away like one fleeing from the plague. 

"Don't ask me, Marie! Don't _speak_ to me. Don't you dare ask me what. .. Or I'll. .. " She was at the front door as she spoke, poised for flightlike a terrified doe. "I must see Mr. Remington! I don't know _what_ totell you, Marie, till I have seen Mr. Remington! I must see my husband!I don't know what to say, I don't know what to _think_, until I haveseen my husband. "

Calling this eminently wifely sentiment over her shoulder she randown the front walk, hatless, wrapless, just as she was in her prettyflowered and looped-up bride's house dress. She couldn't have run fasterif the house had been on fire. 

The clicking of her high heels on the concrete sidewalk was a rattlingtattoo so eloquent of disorganized panic that more than one head wasthrust from a neighboring window to investigate, and more than one headwas pulled back, nodding to the well-worn and charitable hypothesis, "Their first quarrel. " The hypothesis would instantly have beenwithdrawn if any one had continued looking after the fleeing bride longenough to see her, regardless of passers-by, fling herself wildly intoher husband's arms as he descended from the trolley-car at the corner. 

Betty Sheridan was sitting in the drawing-room of her parents' house, rather moodily reading a book on the _Balance of Trade_. 

She had an unconfessed weakness of mind on the subject of tariffs andinternational trade. Although when in college she had written a paperon it which had been read aloud in the Economics Seminar and favorablycommented upon, she knew, in her heart of hearts, that she understoodless than nothing about the underlying principles of the subject. Thisnettled her and gave her occasional nightmare moments of doubt as to thereal fitness of women for public affairs. She read feverishly all shecould find on the subject, ending by addling her brains to the point offrenzy. 

She was almost in that condition now although she did not look it inthe least as, dressed for dinner in the evening gown which replacedthe stark linens and tailored seams of her office-costume, she bent hershining head and earnest face over the pages of the book. 

Penfield Evans took a long look at her, as one looks at a rose-bush inbloom, before he spoke through the open door and broke the spell. 

"Oh, Betty, " he called in a low tone, beckoning her with a gestureredolent of mystery. 

Betty laid down her book and stared. "What you want?" she challengedhim, reverting to the phrase she had used when they were childrentogether. 

"Come on out here a minute!" he said, jerking his head over hisshoulder. "I want to show you something. "

"Oh, I can't fuss around with you, " said Betty, turning to her bookagain. "I've got Roberts' _Balance of Trade_ out of the library and Imust finish it by tomorrow. " She began to read again. 

The young man stood silent for a moment. "Great Scott!" he was saying tohimself with a sinking heart. "So _that's_ what they pick up for lightreading, when they're waiting for dinner!"

He had a particularly gone feeling because, although he had madeseveral successful political speeches on international trade and foreigntariffs, he was intelligent enough to know in his heart of hearts thathe had no real understanding of the principles involved. He had come, indeed, to doubt if any one had!

Now, as he watched the pretty sleek head bent over the book he hadsupposed of course was a novel, he felt a qualm of real apprehension. Maybe there was something in what that guy said, the one who wrotea book to prove (bringing Queen Elizabeth and Catherine the Great asexamples) that the real genius of women is for political life. Maybethey _have_ a special gift for it! Maybe, a generation or so from now, it'll be the _men_ who are disfranchised for incompetence. .. . He putaway as fantastic such horrifying ideas, and with a quick action of hisresolute will applied himself to the present situation. "Oh Betty, youdon't know what you're missing! It's a sight you'll never forget as longas you live. .. Oh, come on! Be a sport. Take a chance!"

Betty was still suspicious of frivolity, but she rose, looked at herwrist-watch and guessed she'd have a few minutes before dinner, to foolaway in light-minded society. 

"There's nothing light-minded about this!" Penny assured her gravely, leading her swiftly down the street, around the corner, up anotherstreet and finally, motioning her to silence, up on the well-clippedlawn of a handsome, dignified residence, set around with old trees. 

"Look!" he whispered in her ear, dramatically pointing in through thelighted window. "Look! What do you see?"

Betty looked, and looked again and turned on him petulantly:

"What foolishness are you up to now, Penfield Evans!" she whisperedenergetically. "Why under the sun did you drag me out to see Emeleneand Alys Brewster-Smith dining with the Remingtons? Isn't it justthe combination of reactionary old fogies you might expect to gettogether. .. Though I didn't know Alys ever took her little girl out todinner-parties, and Emelene must be perfectly crazy over that cat totake her here. Cats make George's flesh creep. Don't you remember, atthe Sunday School Bazaar. "

He cut her short with a gesture of command, and applying his lips to herear so that he would not be heard inside the house, he said, "You thinkall you see is Emelene and Alys taking dinner _en famille_ withthe Remingtons. Eyes that see not! What you are gazing upon is areconstruction of the blessed family life that existed in the goodold days, before the industrial period and the abominable practiceof economic independence for women began! You are seeing Woman inher proper place, the Home, . .. If not her own Home, somebody's Home, anybody's Home. .. The Home of the man nearest to her, who owes herprotection because she can't vote. You are gazing upon. .. "

His rounded periods were silenced by a tight clutch on his wrist. "Penfield Evans. Don't you dare exaggerate to me! Have they come thereto stay! _To take him at his word!_"

He nodded solemnly. 

"Their trunks are upstairs in the only two spare-rooms in the house, and Frieda is installed in the only extra room in the attic. Marie gavenotice that she was going to quit, just before dinner. George has beentelephoning to my Aunt Harriet to see if she knows of another maid. .. . "

"Whatever. .. Whatever could have made them _think_ of such a thing!"gasped Betty, almost beyond words. 

"I did!" said Penfield Evans, tapping himself on the chest. "It was _my_giant intelligence that propelled them here. "

He was conscious of a lacy rush upon him, and of a couple of soft armswhich gave him an impassioned embrace none the less vigorous becausethe arms were more used to tennis-racquets and canoe-paddles thanimpassioned embraces. Then he was thrust back. .. And there was Betty, collapsed against a lilac bush, shaking and convulsed, one handpressed hard on her mouth to keep back the shrieks of merriment whichcontinually escaped in suppressed squeals, the other hand outstretchedto ward him off. .. . 

"No, don't you touch me, I didn't mean a thing by it! I just couldn'thelp it! It's too, _too_ rich! Oh Penny, you duck! Oh, I shall die! Ishall die! I never saw anything so funny in my life! Oh, Penny, take meaway or I shall perish here and now!"

On the whole, in spite of the repulsing hand, he took it that he hadadvanced his cause. He broke into a laugh, more light-hearted than hehad uttered for a long time. They stood for a moment more in the softdarkness, gazing in with rapt eyes at the family scene. Then theyreeled away up the street, gasping and choking with mirth, festooningthemselves about trees for support when their legs gave way under them. 

"_Did_ you see George's face when Emelene let the cat eat out of herplate!" cried Betty. 

"And did you see Genevieve's when Mrs. Brewster-Smith had the dessertset down in front of her to serve!"

"How about little Eleanor upsetting the glass of milk on George'strousers!"

"Oh _poor_ old George! Did you ever see such gloom!"

Thus bubbling, they came again to Betty's home with the door still openfrom which she had lately emerged. There Betty fell suddenly silent, all the laughter gone from her face. The man peered in the dusk, apprehensive. What had gone wrong, now, after all?

"Do you know, Penny, we're pigs!" she said suddenly, with energy. "We'rehateful, abominable pigs!"

He glared at her and clutched his hair. 

"Didn't you see Emelene Brand's face? I can't get it out of my mind! Itmakes me sick, it was so happy and peaceful and befooled! Poor olddear! She _believes_ all that! And she's the only one who does! And itsbeastly in us to make a joke of it! She has wanted a home all her life, and she'd have made a lovely one, too, for children! And she's been keptfrom it by all this fool's talk about womanliness. "

"Help! What under the sun are you. .. " began Penfield. 

"Why, look here, she's not and never was, the kind any man wants tomarry. She wouldn't have liked a real husband, either. .. Poor, dear, thin-blooded old child! But she wanted a _home_ just the same. Everybodydoes! And if she had been taught how to earn a decent living, if shehadn't been fooled out of her five senses by that idiotic cant about aman's doing everything for you, or else going without. .. Why she'd beworking now, a happy, useful woman, bringing up two or three adoptedchildren in a decent home she'd made for them with her own efforts. .. Instead of making her loving heart ridiculous over a cat. .. . "

She dashed her hand over her eyes angrily, and stood silent for amoment, trying to control her quivering chin before she went into thehouse. 

The young man touched her shoulder with reverent fingers. "Betty, " hesaid in a rather unsteady voice, "its _true_, all that bally-rot aboutwomen being better than men. You _are_!"

With which very modern compliment, he turned and left her. 

CHAPTER V. BY KATHLEEN NORRIS

Her first evening with her augmented family Genevieve Remington neverforgot. It is not at all likely that George ever forgot it, either;but to George it was only one in the series of disturbing events thatfollowed his unqualified repudiation of the suffrage cause. 

To Genevieve's tender heart it meant the wreckage, not the preservationof the home; that lovely home to whose occupancy she had so hopefullylooked. She was too young a wife to recognize in herself the evanescentemotions of the bride. The blight had fallen upon her for all time. Whathad been fire was ashes; it was all over. The roseate dream had beenfollowed by a cruel, and a lasting, awakening. 

Some day Genevieve would laugh at the memory of this tragic evening, asshe laughed at George's stern ultimatums, and at Junior's decision tobe an engineer, and at Jinny's tiny cut thumb. But she had no sense ofhumor now. As she ran to the corner, and poured the whole distressfulstory into her husband's ears, she felt the walls of her castle in Spaincrashing about her ears. 

George, of course, was wonderful; he had been that all his life. He onlysmiled, at first, at her news. 

"You poor little sweetheart!" he said to his wife, as she clung to hisarm, and they entered the house together. "It's a shame to distress youso, just as we are getting settled, and Marie and Lottie are workingin! But it's too absurd, and to have you worry your little head isridiculous, of course! Let them stay here to dinner, and then I'll justquietly take it for granted that they are going home--"

"But--but their trunks are here, dearest!"

Husband and wife were in their own room now, and Genevieve was rapidlyrecovering her calm. George turned from his mirror to frown at her insurprise. "Their trunks! They didn't lose any time, did they? But do youmean to say there was no telephoning--no notice at all?"

"They may have telephoned, George, love. But I was over at GraceHatfield's for a while, and I got back just before they came in!"

George went on with his dressing, a thoughtful expression on his face. Genevieve thought he looked stunning in the loose Oriental robe he worewhile he shaved. 

"Well, whatever they think, we can't have this, you know, " he saidpresently. "I'll have to be quite frank with Alys, --of course Emelenehas no sense!"

"Yes, be quite frank!" Genevieve urged eagerly. "Tell them that ofcourse you were only speaking figuratively. Nobody ever means that awoman really can't get along without a man's protection, because look atthe women who _do_--"

She stopped, a little troubled by the expression on his face. 

"I said what I truly believe, dear, " he said kindly. "You know that!"Genevieve was silent. Her heart beat furiously, and she felt that shewas going to cry. He was angry with her--he was angry with her! Oh, whathad she said, what _had_ she said!

"But for all that, " George continued, after a moment, "nobody but twowomen could have put such an idiotic construction upon my words. Iam certainly going to make that point with Alys. A sex that can jumpheadlong to such a perfectly untenable conclusion is very far from readyto assume the responsibilities of citizenship--"

"George, dearest!" faltered Genevieve. She did not want to make himcross again, but she could not in all loyalty leave him under thismisunderstanding, to approach the always articulate Alys. 

"George, it was Penny, I'm sure!" she said. "From what they said, --theytalked all the time!--I think Penny went to see them, and sort of--sortof--suggested this! I'm so sorry, George--"

George was sulphurously silent. 

"And Penny will make the most of it, you know!"

Genevieve went on quickly and nervously. "If you should send them back, tonight, I know he'd tell Betty! And Betty says she is coming to see youbecause she has been asked to read an answer to your paper, at the Club, and she might--she has such a queer sense of humor--"

Silence. Genevieve wished that she was dead, and that every one wasdead. 

"I don't want to criticize you, dear, " George said presently, in hiskindest tone. "But the time to _act_, of course, was when they firstarrived. I can't do anything now. We'll just have to face it through, for a few days. "

It was not much of a cloud, but it was their first. Genevieve wentdownstairs with tears in her eyes. 

She had wanted their home to be so cozy, so dainty, so intimate! And nowto have two grown women and a child thrust into her Paradise! Marie wassulky, rattling the silver-drawer viciously while her mistress talkedto her, and Lottie had an ugly smile as she submitted respectfully thatthere wasn't enough asparagus. 

Then George's remoteness was terrifying. He carved with appallingcourtesy. "Is there another chicken, Genevieve?" he asked, as if he hadonly an impersonal interest in her kitchen. No, there was only the one. And plenty, too, said the guests pleasantly. Genevieve hoped there wereeggs and bacon for Marie and Lottie and Frieda. 

"I'm going to ask you for just a mouthful more, it tastes so deliciousand homy!" said Alys. "And then I want to talk a little business, George. It's about those houses of mine, out in Kentwood. .. . "

George looked at her blankly, over his drumstick. 

"Darling Tom left them, " said Tom's widow, "and they really have rentedwell. They're right near the factory, you know. But now, just lately, some man from the agents has been writing and writing me; he says thatone of them has been condemned, and that unless I do something or otherthey'll all be condemned. It's a horrid neighborhood, and I don't likethe idea, anyway, of a woman poking about among drains and cellars. Yet, if I send the agent, he'll run me into fearful expense; they always do. So I'm going to take them out of his hands tomorrow, and turn it allover to you, and whatever you decide will be best!"

"My dear girl, I'm the busiest man in the world!" George said. "Leaveall that to Allen. He's the best agent in town!"

"Oh, I took them away from Allen months ago, George. Sampson has themnow. "

"Sampson? What the deuce did you change for? I don't know that Sampsonis solvent. I certainly would go back to Allen--"

"George, I can't!"

The widow looked at her plate, swept him a coquettish glance, anddropped her eyes again. 

"Mr. Allen is a dear fellow, " she elucidated, "but his wife is dreadful!There's nothing she won't suspect, and nothing she won't say!"

"My dear cousin, this isn't a question of social values! It's business!"George said impatiently. "But I'll tell you what to do, " he added, afterscowling thought. "You put it in Miss Eliot's hands; she was with Allenfor some years. Now she's gone in for herself, and she's doing well. We've given her several things--" "Take it out of a man's hands to putit into a woman's!" Alys exclaimed. And Emelene added softly:

"What can a woman be thinking of, to go into a dreadful business likeselling real estate and collecting rents!"

"Of course, she was trained by men!" Genevieve threw in, a littleanxiously. Alys was so tactless, when George was tired and hungry. Shecast about desperately for some neutral topic, but before she could findone the widow spoke again. 

"I'll tell you what I'll do, George. I'll bring the books and papersto your office tomorrow morning, and then you can do whatever you thinkbest! Just send me a check every month, and it will be all right!"

"Just gather me up what's there, on the plate, " Emelene said, with hernervous little laugh in the silence. "I declare I don't know when I'veeaten such a dinner! But that reminds me that you could help meout wonderfully, too, Cousin George--I can't quite call you Mr. Remington!--with those wretched stocks of mine. I'm sure I don't knowwhat they've been doing, but I know I get less money all the time!It's the New Haven, George, that P'pa left me two years ago. I can'tunderstand anything about it, but yesterday I was talking to a young manwho advised me to put all my money into some tonic stock. It's a tonicmade just of plain earth--he says it makes everything grow. Doesn'tit sound reasonable? But if I should lose all I have, I'm afraid I'd_really_ wear my welcome out, Genevieve, dear. So perhaps you'll adviseme?"

"I'll do what I can!" George smiled, and Genevieve's heart rose. "Butupon my word, what you both tell me isn't a strong argument for Betty'scause!" he added good-naturedly. 

"P'pa always said, " Emelene quoted, "that if a woman looked about for aman to advise her, she'd find him! And as I sit here now, in this lovelyhome, I think--isn't it sweeter and wiser and better this way? For awhile, --because I was a hot-headed, rebellious girl!--I couldn't seethat he was right. I had had a disappointment, you know, " she went on, her kind, mild eyes watering. Genevieve, who had been gazing insome astonishment at the once hot-headed, rebellious girl, sighedsympathetically. Every one knew about the Reverend Mr. Totter's death. 

"And after that I just wanted to be busy, " continued Emelene. "I wantedto be a trained nurse, or a matron, or something! I look back at it now, and wonder what I was thinking about! And then dear Mama went, and Istepped into her place with P'pa. He wasn't exactly an invalid, but hedid like to be fussed over, to have his meals cooked by my own hands, even if we were in a hotel. And whist--dear me, how I used to dreadthose three rubbers every evening! I was only a young woman then, andI suppose I was attractive to other men, but I never forgot Mr. Totter. And Cousin George, " she turned to him submissively, "when you weretalking about a woman's real sphere, I felt--well, almost guilty. Because only that one man ever asked me. Do you think, feeling as I did, that I should have deliberately made myself attractive to men?"

George cleared his throat. "All women can't marry, I suppose. It's inEngland, I believe, that there are a million unmarried women. But youhave made a contented and a womanly life for yourself, and, as a matterof fact, there always _has_ been a man to stand between you and thestruggle!" he said. 

"I know. First P'pa, and now you!" Emelene mused happily. 

"I wasn't thinking of myself. I was thinking that your father left you acomfortable income!" he said quickly. 

"And now you have asked me here; one of the dearest old places in town!"Emelene added innocently. 

Genevieve listened in a stupefaction. This was married life, then? Notsince her childhood had Genevieve so longed to stamp, to scream, toprotest, to tear this twisted scheme apart and start anew!

She was not a crying woman, but she wanted to cry now. She was not--shetold herself indignantly--quite a fool. But she felt that if George wenton being martyred, and mechanically polite, and grim, she would go intohysterics. She had been married less than six weeks; that night shecried herself to sleep. 

Her guests were as agreeable as their natures permitted; but Genevievewas reduced, before the third day of their visit, to a condition ofcontinual tears. 

This was her home, this was the place sacred to George and herself, andtheir love. Nobody in the world, --not his mother, not hers, had theirmothers been living!--was welcome here. She had planned to be such agood wife to him, so thoughtful, so helpful, so brave when he must beaway. But she could not rise to the height of sharing him with otherwomen, and saying whatever she said to him in the hearing of witnesses. And then she dared not complain too openly! That was an additionalhardship, for if George insulted his guests, then that horrid Penny--

Genevieve had always liked Penny, and had danced and flirted with himaeons ago. She had actually told Betty that she hoped Betty would marryPenny. But now she felt that she loathed him. He was secretly laughingat George, at George who had dared to take a stand for old-fashionedvirtue and the purity of the home!

It was all so unexpected, so hard. Women everywhere were talking aboutGeorge's article, and expected her to defend it! George, she could havedefended. But how could she talk about a subject upon which she was notinformed, in which, indeed, as she was rather fond of saying, she wasabsolutely uninterested?

George was changed, too. Something was worrying him; and it was hard onthe darling old boy to come home to Miss Emelene and the cat and Eleanorand Alys, every night! Emelene adored him, of course, and Alys wasalways interesting and vivacious, but--but it wasn't like coming home tohis own little Genevieve!

The bride wept in secret, and grew nervous and timid in manner. Mrs. Brewster-Smith, however, found this comprehensible enough, and one hotsummer afternoon Genevieve went into George's office with her lovelyhead held high, her color quite gone, and her breath coming quickly withindignation. [Illustration: It was hard on the darling old boy to comehome to Miss Emelene and the cat and Eleanor and Alys every night!]"George--I don't care what we do, or where we go! But I can't stand it!She said--she said--she told me--"

Her husband was alone in his office, and Genevieve was now crying in hisarms. He patted her shoulder tenderly. 

"I'm so worried all the time about dinners, and Lottie's going, and thatchild getting downstairs and letting in flies and licking the frostingoff the maple cake, " sobbed Genevieve, "that of _course_ I show it! Andif I _have_ given up my gym work, it's just because I was so busy tryingto get some one in Lottie's place! And now they say--they say--that_they_ know what the matter is, and that I mustn't dance or playgolf--the horrible, spying cats! I won't go back, George, I will not!I--"

Again George was wonderful. He put his arm about her, and she satdown on the edge of his desk, and leaned against that dear protectiveshoulder and dried her eyes on one of his monogrammed handkerchiefs. Hereminded her of a long-standing engagement for this evening with Bettyand Penny, to go out to Sea Light and have dinner and a swim, and drivehome in the moonlight. And when she was quiet again, he said tenderly:

"You mustn't let the 'cats' worry you, Pussy. What they think isn'ttrue, and I don't blame you for getting cross! But in one way, dear, aren't they right? Hasn't my little girl been riding and driving anddancing a little too hard? Is it the wisest thing, just now? You havebeen nervous lately, dear, and excitable. Mightn't there be a reason?Because I don't have to tell you, sweetheart, nothing would make meprouder, and Uncle Martin, of course, has made no secret of how _he_feels! You wouldn't be sorry, dear?"

Genevieve had always loved children deeply. Long before this herhappy dreams had peopled the old house in Sheridan Road with handsome, dark-eyed girls, and bright-eyed boys like their father. 

But, to her own intense astonishment, she found this speech from herhusband distasteful. George would be "proud, " and Uncle Martin pleased. But it suddenly occurred to Genevieve that neither George nor UncleMartin would be tearful and nervous. Neither George nor Uncle Martinneed eschew golf and riding and dancing. To be sick, when she had alwaysbeen so well! To face death, for which she had always had so healthy ahorror! Cousin Alex had died when her baby came, and Lois Farwell hadnever been well after the fourth Farwell baby made his appearance. 

Genevieve's tears died as if from flame. She gently put aside thesustaining arm, and went to the little mirror on the wall, to straightenher hat. She remembered buying this hat, a few weeks ago, in theecstatic last days of the old life. 

"We needn't talk of that yet, George, " she said quietly. 

She could see George's grieved look, in the mirror. There was a shortsilence in the office. 

Then Betty Sheridan, cool in pongee, came briskly in. 

"Hello, Jinny!" said she. "Had you forgotten our plan tonight?You're chaperoning me, I hope you realize! I'm rather difficile, too. Genevieve, Pudge is outside; he'll take you out and buy you somethingcold. I took him to lunch today. It was disgraceful! Except for afrightful-looking mess called German Pot Roast With Carrots and NoodlesSixty, he ate nothing but melon, lemon-meringue pie, and pineapplespecial. I was absolutely ashamed! George, I would have speech withyou. "

"Private business, Betty?" he asked pleasantly. "My wife may not havethe vote, but I trust her with all my affairs!"

"Indeed, I'm not in the least interested!" Genevieve said saucily. 

She knew George was pleased with her as she went happily away. 

"It's just as well Jinny went, " said Betty, when she and thedistrict-attorney-elect were alone. "Because it's that old bore ColonelJaynes! He's come again, and he says he _will_ see you!"

Deep red rose in George's handsome face. 

"He came here last week, and he came yesterday, " Betty said, sittingdown, "and really I think you should see him! You see, George, in thatfar-famed article of yours, you remarked that 'a veteran of the civilas well as the Spanish war' had told you that it was the restlessoutbreaking of a few northern women that helped to precipitate thenational catastrophe, and he wants to know if you meant him!"

"I named no names!" George said, with dignity, yet uneasily, too. 

"I know you didn't. But you see we haven't many veterans of _both_wars, " Betty went on, pleasantly. "And of course old Mrs. Jaynes is arabid suffragist, and she is simply hopping. He's a mild old man, you know, and evidently he wants to square things with 'Mother. ' Now, George, who _did_ you mean?"

"A statement like that may be made in a general sense, " George remarked, after scowling thought. 

"You might have made the statement on your own hook, " Betty conceded, "but when you mention an anonymous Colonel, of course they all sit up!He says that he's going to get a signed statement from you that _he_never said that, and publish it!"

"Ridiculous!" said George. 

"Then here are two letters, " Betty pursued. "One is from thecorresponding secretary of the Women's Non-partisan Pacific CoastAssociation. She says that they would be glad to hear from you regardingyour statement that equal suffrage, in the western states, is anacknowledged failure. "

"She'll wait!" George predicted grimly. 

"Yes, I suppose so. But she's written to our Mrs. Herrington here, asking her to follow up the matter. George, dear, " asked Bettymaternally, "_why_ did you do it? Why couldn't you let well enoughalone!"

"What's your other letter?" asked George. 

"It's just from Mr. Riker, of the _Sentinel_, George. He wants you todrop in. It seems that they want a correction on one of your statisticsabout the number of workingwomen in the United States who don't wantthe vote. He says it only wants a signed line from you that you weremistaken--"

Refusing to see Colonel Jaynes, or to answer the Colonel's letter, George curtly telephoned the editor of the _Sentinel_, and walked homeat four o'clock, his cheeks still burning, his mind in a whirl. Bigissues should have been absorbing him: and his mind was pestered insteadwith these midges of the despised cause. Well, it was all in the day'swork--

And here was his sweet, devoted wife, fluttering across the hall, ascool as a rose, in her pink and white. And she had packed his things, in case they wanted to spend the night at Sea Light, and the "cats" hadgone off for library books, and he must have some ginger-ale, before itwas time to go for Betty and Penny. 

The day was perfection. The motor-car purred like a racing tiger underGeorge's gloved hand. Betty and Penny were waiting, and the three youngpersons forgot all differences, and laughed and chatted in the old happyway, as they prepared for the start. But Betty was carrying a book:_Catherine of Russia_. 

"Do you know why suffragists should make an especial study of queens, George?" she asked, as she and Penny settled themselves on the backseat. 

"Well, I'll be interlocutor, " George smiled, glancing up at the house, from which his wife might issue at any moment. "Why should suffragistsread the lives of queens, Miss Bones?"

"Because queens are absolutely the only women in all history who hadequal rights!" Betty answered impassively. "Do you realize that? Theonly women whose moral and social and political instincts had fullsway!"

"And a sweet use they made of them, sometimes!" said George. 

"And who were the great rulers, " pursued Betty. "Whose name in Englishhistory is like the names of Elizabeth and Victoria, or Matilda or Mary, for the matter of that? Who mended and conserved and built up what thekings tore down and wasted? Who made Russia an intellectual power--"

Again Penny had an odd sense of fear. Were women perhaps superior tomen, after all!

"I don't think Catherine of Russia is a woman to whom a lady can pointwith pride, " George said conclusively. Genevieve, who had appeared, shotBetty a triumphant glance as they started. Pudge waved to them from thecandy store at the corner. 

"There's a new candy store every week!" said Penny, shuddering. "Heavenhelp that poor boy; it must be in the blood!"

"Women must always have something sweet to nibble, " George said, leaningback. "The United States took in two millions last year in gum alone!"

"Men chew gum!" suggested Betty. 

"But come now, Betty, be fair!" George said. "Which sex eats morecandy?"

"Well, I suppose women do, " she admitted. 

"You count the candy stores, down Main Street, " George went on, "and askyourself how it is that these people can pay rents and salaries just oncandy, --nothing else. Did you ever think of that?"

"Well, I could vote with a chocolate in my mouth!" Betty mutteredmutinously, as the car turned into the afternoon peace of the mainthoroughfare. 

"You count them on your side, Penny, and I will on mine!" Genevievesuggested. "All down the street. " "Well, wait--we've passed two!" Pennysaid excitedly. 

"Go on; there's three. That grocery store with candy in the window!"

"Groceries don't count!" objected Betty. 

"Oh, they do, too! And drug stores. .. . Every place that sells candy!"

"Drug stores and groceries and fruit stores only count half a point, "Betty stipulated. "Because they sell other things!"

"That's fair enough, " George conceded here, with a nod. 

Genevieve and Penny almost fell out of the car in their anxiety notto miss a point, and George quite deliberately lingered on thecross-streets, so that the damning total might be increased. 

Laughing and breathless, they came to the bridge that led from the townto the open fields, and took the count. 

"One hundred and two and a half!" shouted Penny and Genevièvetriumphantly. George smiled over his wheel. 

"Oh, women, women!" he said. "One hundred and sixty-one!" said Betty. There was a shout of protest. 

"Oh, Betty Sheridan! You didn't! Why, we didn't miss _one_!"

"I wasn't counting candy stores, " smiled Betty. "Just to be different, I counted cigar stores and saloons. But it doesn't signify much eitherway, does it, George?"

CHAPTER VI. BY HENRY KITCHELL WEBSTER

Of the quartette who, an hour later, emerged from the bath-housesand scampered across the satiny beech into a discreetly playful surf, Genevieve was the one real swimmer. She was better even than Penny, andshe left Betty and George nowhere. 

She had an endless repertory of amphibious stunts which she performedwith gusto, and in the intervals she took an equal satisfaction inwatching Penny's heroic but generally disastrous attempts to imitatethem. 

The other two splashed around aimlessly and now and then remonstrated. 

Now, it's all very well to talk about two hearts beating as one, andin the accepted poetical sense of the words, of course Genevieve's andGeorge's did. But as a matter of physiological fact, they didn't. At theend of twenty minutes or so George began turning a delicate blue and aclatter as of distant castanets provided an obligato when he spoke, thesame being performed by George's teeth. 

The person who made these observations was Betty. 

"You'd better go out, " she said. "You're freezing. "

It ought to have been Genevieve who said it, of course, though the factthat she was under water more than half the time might be advanced asher excuse for failing to say it. But who could venture to excuse thedownright callous way in which she exclaimed, "Already? Why we've justgot in! Come along and dive through that wave. That'll warm you up!"

It was plain to George that she didn't care whether he was cold or not. And, though the idea wouldn't quite go into words, it was also clear tohim that an ideal wife--a really womanly wife--would have turned bluejust a little before he began to. 

"Thanks, " he said, in a cold blue voice that matched the color of hisfinger nails. "I think I've had enough. "

Betty came splashing along beside him. 

"I'm going out, too, " she said. "We'll leave these porpoises to theirinnocent play. "

This was almost pure amiability, because she wasn't cold, and she'd beenhaving a pretty good time. Her other (practically negligible) motivewas that Penny might be reminded, by her withdrawal, of his forgottenpromise to teach her to float--and be sorry. Altogether, George wouldhave been showing only a natural and reasonable sense of his obligationsif he'd brightened up and flirted with her a little, instead of gloomingout to sea the way he did, paying simply no attention to her at all. Soat last she pricked him. 

"Isn't it funny, " she said, "the really blighting contempt that swimmersfeel for people who can't feel at home in the water--people who gasp andshiver and keep their heads dry?"

She could see that, in one way, this remark had done George good. Ithelped warm him up. Leaning back on her hands, as she did, she could seethe red come up the back of his neck and spread into his ears. But itdidn't make him conversationally any more exciting. He merely grunted. So she tried again. 

"I suppose, " she said dreamily, "that the myth about mermaids mustbe founded in fact. Or is it sirens I'm thinking about? Perfectlyfascinating, irresistible women, who lure men farther and farther out, in the hope of a kiss or something, until they get exhausted and drown. I'll really be glad when Penny gets back alive. "

"And I shall be very glad, " said George, trying hard for a tone ofcondescending indifference appropriate for use with one who has playeddolls with one's little sister, "I shall really be very glad when youmake up your mind what you are going to do with Penny. He's just abouta total loss down at the office as it is, and he's getting a worse idiotfrom day to day. And the worst of it is, I imagine you know all thewhile what you're going to do about it--whether you're going to take himor not. "

The girl flushed at that. He was being almost too outrageously rude, even for George. But before she said anything to that effect, shethought of something better. 

"I shall never marry any man, " she said very intensely, "whose heartis not with the Cause. You know what Cause I mean, George--the SuffrageCause. When I see thoughtless girls handing over their whole lives tomen who. .. "

It sounded like the beginning of an oration. 

"Good Lord!" her victim cried. "Isn't there anything else than that totalk about--_ever_?"

"But just think how lucky you are, George, " she said, "that at home theyall think exactly as you do!"

He jumped up. Evidently this reminder of the purring acquiescences ofCousin Emelene and Mrs. Brewster-Smith laid no balm upon his harassedspirit. 

"You may leave my home alone, if you please. "

He was frightfully annoyed, of course, or he wouldn't have said anythingas crude as that. In a last attempt to recover his scattered dignity, he caught at his office manner. "By the way, " he said, "you forgotto remind me today to write a letter to that Eliot woman about Mrs. Brewster-Smith's cottages. "

With that he stalked away to dress. Genevieve and Penny, now shorewardbound, hailed him. But it wasn't quite impossible to pretend he didn'thear, and he did it. 

The dinner afterward at the Sea Light Inn was a rather gloomy affair. George's lonely grandeur was only made the worse, it seemed, byGenevieve's belated concern lest he might have taken cold through nothaving gone and dressed directly he came out of the water. Genevievethen turned very frosty to Penny, having decided suddenly that it wasall his fault. 

As for Betty, though she was as amiable a little soul as breathed, shedidn't see why she should make any particular effort to console Penny, just because his little flirtation with Genevieve had stopped with abump. 

Even the ride home in the moonlight didn't help much. Genevieve satbeside George on the front seat, and between them there stretched atense, tragic silence. In the back seat with Penfield Evans, and in theintervals of frustrating his attempts to hold her hand, Betty consideredhow frightfully silly young married couples could be over microscopicdifferences. 

But Betty was wrong here and the married pair on the front seat wereright. 

Just reflect for a minute what Genevieve's George was. He was herknight, her Bayard, her thoroughly Tennysonian King Arthur. The basis ofher adoration was that he should remain like that. You can see thenwhat a staggering experience it was to have caught herself, even for aminute, in the act of smiling over him as sulky and absurd. 

And think of George's Genevieve! A saint enshrined, that his soul couldprofitably bow down before whenever it had leisure to escape from theactivities of a wicked world. Fancy his horror over the mere suspicionthat she could be indifferent to his wishes--his comfort--even hishealth, because of a mere tomboy flirtation with a man who could swimbetter than he could! Most women were like that, he knew--vain, shallow, inconstant creatures! But was not his pearl an exception? It washorrible to have to doubt it. 

By three o'clock the next morning, after many tears and much gravediscourse, they succeeded in getting these doubts to sleep--killingthem, they'd have said, beyond the possibility of resurrection. It wasthe others who had made all the trouble. If only they could have theworld to themselves--no Cousin Emelene, no Alys Brewster-Smith, noPenfield Evans and Betty Sheridan, with their frivolity and low ideals, to complicate things! An Arcadian Island in some Aeonian Sea. 

"Well, " he said hopefully, "our home can be like that. It shall be likethat, when we get rid of Alys and her horrible little girl, and CousinEmelene and her unspeakable cat. It shall be our world; and no troublesor cares or worries shall ever get in there!"

She acquiesced in this prophecy, but even as she did so, cuddling herface against his own, a low-down, unworthy spook, whose existence inher he must never suspect, said audibly in her inner ear, "Much he knowsabout it!" Betty did not forget to remind George of the letter he wasto write to Miss Eliot about taking over the agency of Mrs. Brewster-Smith's cottages. In the composition of this letter Georgewashed his hands of responsibility with, you might say, antiseptic care. 

He had taken pleasure in recommending Miss Eliot, he explained, and Mrs. Brewster-Smith was acting on his recommendation. Any questions arisingout of the management of the property should be taken up directly withher client. Miss Eliot would have no difficulty in understanding thatthe enormous pressure of work which now beset him precluded him fromhaving anything more to do with the matter. 

The letter was typed and inclosed in a big linen envelope, with the messof papers Alys had dumped upon his desk a few days previously, and itwas despatched forthwith by the office boy. 

"There, " said George on a note of grim satisfaction, "that's done!"

The grimness lasted, but the satisfaction did not. Or only untilthe return of the office boy, half an hour later, with the identicalenvelope and a three-line typewritten note from Miss Eliot. She wassorry to say, she wrote, that she did not consider it advisable toundertake the agency for the property in question. Thanking him, nevertheless, for his courtesy, she was his very truly, E. Eliot. 

George summoned Betty by means of the buzzer, and asked her, with icyindignation, what she thought of that. But, as he was visibly burstingwith impatience to say what _he_ thought of it, she gave him theopportunity. 

"I thought you advanced women, " he said, "were supposed to stand by eachother--stand by all women--try to make things better for them. One forall--all for one. That sort of thing. But it really works the other way. It's just because a woman owns those cottages that Miss Eliot won't haveanything to do with them. She knows that women are unreasonable and hardto get on with in business matters, so she passes the buck! Back to aman, if you please, who hasn't any more real responsibility for it thanshe has. "

There was, of course, an obvious retort to this; namely, that businesswas business, and that a business woman had the same privilege abusiness man had, of declining a job that looked as if it would entailmore bother than it was worth. But Betty couldn't quite bring herselfto take this line. Women, if they could ever get the chance (throughthe vote and in other ways), were going to make the world a betterplace--run it on a better lot of ideals. It wouldn't do to beginjustifying women on the ground that they were only doing what men did. As well abandon the whole crusade right at the beginning. 

George saw her looking rather thoughtful, and pressed his advantage. Suppose Betty went and saw Miss Eliot personally, sometime today, andurged her to reconsider. The business didn't amount to much, it wastrue, and it no doubt involved the adjustment of some troublesomedetails. But unless Miss Eliot would undertake it, he wouldn't know justwhere to turn. Alys had quarreled with Allen, and Sampson was a skate. And perhaps a little plain talk to Alys about the condition of thecottages--"from one of her own sex, " George said this darkly and lookedaway out of the window at the time--might be productive of good. 

"All right, " Betty agreed, "I'll see what I can do. It's kind of hard togo to a woman you barely know by sight, and talk to her about her duty, but I guess I'm game. If you can spare me, I'll go now and get it overwith. "

There were no frills about Edith Eliot's real estate office, though theair of it was comfortably busy and prosperous. 

The place had once been a store. An architect's presentation of anapartment building, now rather dusty, occupied the show-window. Therewas desk accommodation for two or three of those bright young men whomake a selection of keys and take people about to look at houses; therewas a stenographer's desk with a stenographer sitting at it; and backof a table in the corner, in the attitude of one making herself ascomfortable as the heat of the day would permit, while she scowled overa voluminous typewritten document, was E. Eliot herself. It was almostsuperfluous to mention that her name was Edith. She never signed it, andthere was no one, in Whitewater anyway, who called her by it. 

She was a big-boned young woman (that is, if you call the middlethirties young), with an intelligent, homely face, which probably gotthe attraction some people surprisingly found in it from the fact thatshe thought nothing about its looks one way or the other. It was ratherred when Betty came in, and she was making it rapidly redder with thevigorous ministrations of a man's-size handkerchief. 

She greeted Betty with a cordial "how-de-doo, " motioned her to the otherchair at the table (Betty had a fleeting wish that she might have dustedit before she sat down), and asked what she could do for her. 

"I'm from Mr. Remington's office, " Betty said, "Remington and Evans. He wrote you a note this morning about some cottages that belong to acousin of his, Mrs. Brewster-Smith. "

"I answered that note by his own messenger, " said E. Eliot. "He shouldhave got the reply before this. " "Oh, he got it, " said Betty, "andwas rather upset about it. What I've come for, is to urge you toreconsider. "

E. Eliot smiled rather grimly at her blotting-pad, looked up at Betty, and allowed her smile to change its quality. What she said was notwhat she had meant to say before she looked up. E. Eliot was alwaysupbraiding herself for being sentimental about youth and beauty in herown sex. She'd never been beautiful, and she'd never been young--notyoung like Betty. But the upbraidings never did any good. 

She said: "I thought I had considered sufficiently when I answered Mr. Remington's note. But it's possible I hadn't. What is it you think I mayhave overlooked?"

"Why, " said Betty, "George thought the reason you wouldn't take thecottages was because a woman owned them. He used it as a sort of exampleof how women wouldn't stick together. He said that you probably knewthat women were unreasonable and hard to deal with and didn't want thebother. "

It disconcerted Betty a little that E. Eliot interposed no denial atthis point, though she'd paused to give her the opportunity. 

"You see, " she went on a little breathlessly, "I'm for women suffrageand economic independence and all that. I think it's perfectly wonderfulthat you should be doing what you are--showing that women can be justas successful in business as men can. Of course I know that you've gota perfect _right_ to do just what a man would do--refuse to take a pieceof business that wasn't worth while. But--but what we hope is, and whatwe want to show men is, that when women get into politics and businessthey'll be better and less selfish. "

"Which do you mean will be better?" E. Eliot inquired. "The politics andthe business, or the women?"

"I mean the politics and the business, " Betty told her rather frostily. Was the woman merely making fun of her?

E. Eliot caught the note. "I meant my question seriously, " she said. "Ithas a certain importance. But I didn't mean to interrupt you. Go ahead. ""Well, " Betty said, "that's about all. George--Mr. Remington--thatis--is running for district attorney, and he has come out againstsuffrage as you know. I thought perhaps this was a chance to converthim a little. It would be a great favor to him, anyway, if you tookthe cottages; because he doesn't know whom to turn to, if you won't. Ididn't come to try to tell you what your duty is, but I thought perhapsyou hadn't just looked at it that way. "

"All right, " said E. Eliot. "Now I'll tell you how I do look at it. Inthe first place, about doing business for women. It all depends on thewoman you're doing business with. If she's had the business trainingof a man, she's as easy to deal with as a man. If she's never had anybusiness training at all, if business doesn't mean anything to herexcept some vague hocus-pocus that produces her income, then she's sevenkinds of a Tartar. 

"She has no more notion about what she has a right to expect from otherpeople, or what they've a right to expect from her, than a white Angoracat. Of course, the majority of women who have property to attend tohave had it dumped on their hands in middle life, or after, by the willsof loving husbands. Those women, I'll say frankly, are the devil and allto deal with. But it's their husbands' and fathers' fault, and not theirown. Anyhow, that isn't the reason I wouldn't take those cottages. 

"It was the cottages themselves, and not the woman who owned them, thatdecided me. That whole Kentwood district is a disgrace to civilization. The sanitary conditions are filthy; have been for years. The owners havebeen resisting condemnation proceedings right along, on the groundthat the houses brought in so little rental that it would be practicalconfiscation to compel them to make any improvements. Now, since thewar boon struck the mills, and every place with four walls and a roof isfull, they're saying they can't afford to make any change because of thefrightful loss they'd suffer in potential profits. 

"Well, when you agree to act as a person's agent, you've got to act inthat person's interest; and when it's a question of the interest of theowners of those Kentwood cottages, whether they're men or women, my ideawas that I didn't care for the job. "

"I think you're perfectly right about it, " Betty said. "I wouldn'thave come to urge you to change your mind, if I had understood what thesituation was. But, " here she held out her hand, "I'm glad I did come, and I wish we might meet again sometime and get acquainted and talkabout things. "

"No time like the present, " said E. Eliot. "Sit down again, if you'vegot a minute. " She added, as Betty dropped back into her chair, "You'reElizabeth Sheridan, aren't you?--Judge Sheridan's daughter? And you'reworking as a stenographer for Remington and Evans?"

Betty nodded and stammered out the beginning of an apology for nothaving introduced herself earlier. But the older woman waved this aside. 

"What I really want to know, " she went on, "if it isn't too outrageousa question, is what on earth you're doing it for--working in that lawoffice, I mean?"

It was a question Betty was well accustomed to answering. But comingfrom this source, it surprised her into a speechless stare. 

"Why, " she said at last, "I do it because I believe in economicindependence for women. Don't you? But of course you do. "

"I don't know, " said E. Eliot. "I believe in food and clothes, and moneyto pay the rent, and the only way I have ever found of having thosethings was to get out and earn them. But if ever I make money enough togive me an independent income half the size of what yours must be, I'llretire from business in short order. "

"Do you know, " said Betty, "I don't believe you would. I think you'remistaken. I don't believe a woman like you could live without working. "

"I didn't say I'd quit working, " said E. Eliot. "I said I'd quitbusiness. That's another thing. There's plenty of real work in the worldthat won't earn you a living. Lord! Don't I see it going by right herein this office! There are things I just itch to get my hands into, andI have to wait and tell myself 'some day, perhaps!' There's a thing I'dlike to do now, and that's to take a hand in this political campaign fordistrict attorney. It would kill my business deader than Pharaoh's aunt, so I've got to let it go. But it would certainly put your friend GeorgeRemington up a tall tree. "

"Oh, you're a suffragist, then?" Betty exclaimed eagerly. "I waswondering about that. I've never seen you at any of our meetings. "

"I'm a suffragist, all right, " said E. Eliot, "but as your meetings aremostly held in the afternoons, when I'm pretty busy, I haven't been ableto get 'round. 

"I'm curious about Remington, " she went on. "I've known him a little, for years. When I worked for Allen, I used to see him quite often in theoffice. And I'd always rather liked him. So that I was surprised, cleardown to the ground, when I read that statement of his in the _Sentinel_. I'd never thought he was _that_ sort. And from the fact that you work inhis office and like him well enough to call him George one might almostsuppose he wasn't. "

Clearly Betty was puzzled. "Of course, " she said, "I think his viewsabout women are obsolete and ridiculous. But I don't see what they'vegot to do with liking him or not, personally. "

E. Eliot's smile became grim again, but she said nothing, so Betty askeda direct question. 

"That was what you meant, wasn't it?"

"Yes, " the other woman said, "that was what I meant. Why, if you don'tmind plain speaking, it's been my observation that the sort of menwho think the world is too indecent for decent women to go out into, generally have their own reasons for knowing how indecent it is; andthat when they spring a line of talk like that, they're being sickeninghypocrites into the bargain. "

Betty's face had gone flame color. 

"George isn't like that at all, " she said. "He's--he's really fine. He'sold-fashioned and sentimental about women, but he isn't a hypocrite. Hereally means those things he says. Why. .. "

And then Betty went on to tell her new friend about Cousin Emelene andAlys Brewster-Smith, and how George, though he writhed, had stood thegaff. 

"A grown-up man, " E. Eliot summed up, "who honestly believes that womenare made of something fine and fragile, and that they ought to be keptwhere even the wind can't blow upon them! But good heavens, child, ifhe really means that, it makes it all the better for what I was thinkingof. You don't understand, of course. I hadn't meant to tell you, butI've changed my mind. 

"Listen now. That statement in the _Sentinel_ has set the town talking, of course, and stirred up a lot of feeling, for and against suffrage. But what it would be worth as an issue to go to the mat with on electionday, is exactly nothing at all. You go out and ask a voter tovote against a candidate for district attorney because he's ananti-suffragist, and he'll say, 'What difference does it make? It isn'tup to him to give women the vote. It doesn't matter to me what hisprivate opinions are, as long as he makes a good district attorney!' Butthere is an issue that we _can_ go to the mat with, and so far it hasn'tbeen raised at all. There hasn't been a peep. " She reached over and laida hand on Betty's arm. 

"Do you know what the fire protection laws for factories are? And do youknow that it's against the law for women to work in factories at night?Well, and do you know what the conditions are in every big mill in thistown? With this boom in war orders, they've simply taken off the lid. Anything goes. The fire and building ordinances are disregarded, and forsix months the mills have been running a night shift as well as a dayshift, on Sundays and week-days, and three-quarters of their operativesare women. Those women go to work at seven o'clock at night, and quit atsix in the morning; and they have an hour off from twelve to one in themiddle of the night. 

"Now do you see? It's up to the district attorney to enforce the law. Isn't it fair to ask this defender of the home whether he believes thatwomen should be home at night or not, and if he does, what he's goingto do about it? Talk about slogans! The situation bristles with them!We could placard this town with a lot of big black-faced questions thatwould make it the hottest place for George Remington that he ever foundhimself in. 

"Well, it would be pretty good campaign work if he was the hypocriteI took him to be, from his stuff in the _Sentinel_. But if he's on thelevel, as you think he is, there's a chance--don't you see there's achance that he'd come out flat-footed for the enforcement of the law?And if he did!. .. Child, can you see what would happen if he _did_?"

Betty's eyes were shining like a pair of big sapphires. When she spoke, it was in a whisper like an excited child. 

"I can see a little, " she said. "I think I can see. But tell me. "

"In the first place, " said E. Eliot, "see whom he'd have against him. There'd be the best people, to start with. Most of them are stockholdersin the mills. Why, you must be, yourself, in the Jaffry-BradshawCompany! Your father was, anyway. "

Betty nodded. 

"You want to be sure you know what it means, " the older woman went on. "This thing might cut into your dividends, if it went through. "

"I hope it will, " said Betty fiercely. "I never realized before that mymoney was earned like that--by women, girls of my age, standing over amachine all night. " She shivered. "And there are some of us, I'm sure, "she went on, "who would feel the way I do about it. "

"Well, --some, " E. Eliot admitted. "Not many, though. And then there arethe merchants. These are great times for them--town crammed with people, all making money, and buying right and left. And then there's the laborvote itself! A lot of laboring men would be against him. Their womenjust now are earning as much as they are. There are a lot of thesemen--whatever they might say--who'd take good care not to vote for a manwho would prevent their daughters from bringing in the fifteen, twenty, or twenty-five dollars a week they get for that night work. 

"Well, and who would be with him? Why, the women themselves. The onechance on earth he'd have for election would be to have the womenorganized and working for him, bringing every ounce of influence theyhad to bear on their men--on all the men they knew. 

"Mind you, I don't believe he could win at that. But, win or lose, he'dhave done something. He'd have shown the women that they needed thevote, and he'd have found out for himself--he and the other men whobelieve in fair human treatment for everybody--that they can't securethat treatment without women's votes. That's the real issue. It isn'tthat women are better than men, or that they could run the worldbetter if they got the chance. It's that men and women have got to worktogether to do the things that need doing. "

"You're perfectly wonderful, " said Betty, and sat thereafter, forperhaps a minute and a half, in an entranced silence. 

Then, with a shake of the head, a straightening of the spine, and agood, deep, business-like preliminary breath, she turned to her newfriend and said, "Well, shall we do it?"

This time it was E. Eliot's turn to gasp. 

She hadn't expected to have a course of action put up to her in thatinstantaneous and almost casual manner. She wasn't young like Betty. She'd been working hard ever since she was seventeen years old. She'dsucceeded, in a way, to be sure. But her success had taught her how hardsuccess is to obtain. She saw much farther into the consequences ofthe proposed campaign than Betty could see. She realized the bitteranimosity that it would provoke. She knew it was well within theprobabilities that her business would be ruined by it. 

She sat there silent for a while, her face getting grimmer and grimmerall the time. But she turned at last and looked into the eager face ofthe girl beside her, and she smiled, --though even the smile was grim. 

"All right, " she said, holding out her hand to bind the bargain. "We'llstart and we'll stick. And here's hoping! We'd better lunch together, hadn't we?"

CHAPTER VII. BY ANNE O'HAGAN

Mr. Benjamin Doolittle, by profession White-water's leading furnituredealer and funeral director, and by the accident of political fortunethe manager of Mr. George Remington's campaign, sat in his candidate'sprivate office, and from time to time restrained himself from hastyspeech by the diplomatic and dexterous use of a quid of tobacco. 

He found it difficult to preserve his philosophy in the face of GeorgeRemington's agitation over the woman's suffrage issue. 

"It's the last time, " he had frequently informed his political croniessince the opening of the campaign, "that I'll wet-nurse a new-fledgedcandidate. They've got at least to have their milk teeth through if theywant Benjamin Doolittle after this. " To George, itchingly aware throughall his rasped nerves of Mrs. Herrington's letter in that morning's_Sentinel_ asking him to refute, if he could, an abominable half columnof statistics in regard to legislation in the Woman Suffrage States, thefurniture dealer was drawling pacifically:

"Now, George, you made a mistake in letting the women get your goat. Don't pay no attention to them. Of course their game's fair enough. Iwill say that you gave them their opening; stood yourself for a targetwith that statement of yours. Howsomever, you ain't obligated to keep onacting as the nigger head in the shooting gallery. 

"Let 'em write; let 'em ask questions in the papers; let 'em heckle youon the stump. All that you've got to say is that you've expressed yourpersonal convictions already, and that you've stood by those convictionsin your private life, and that as you ain't up for legislator, thequestion don't really concern your candidacy. And that, as you'rerunning for district attorney, you will, with their kind permission, proceed to the subjects that do concern you there--the condition of thecourt calendar of Whitewater County, the prosecution of the racetrackgamblers out at Erie Oval, and so forth, and so forth. 

"You laid yourself open, George, but you ain't obligated in law orequity to keep on presenting yourself bare chest for their outrageousslings and arrows. "

"Of course, what you say about their total irrelevancy is quite true, "said George, making the concession so that it had all the belligerencyof a challenge. "But of course I would never have consented to run foroffice at the price of muzzling my convictions. "

Mr. Doolittle wearily agreed that that was more than could be expectedfrom any candidate of the high moral worth of George Remington. Thenhe went over a list of places throughout the county where George was tospeak during the next week, and intimated dolefully that the committeecould use a little more money, if it had it. 

He expressed it thus: "A few more contributions wouldn't put any strainto speak of on our pants' pockets. Anything more to be got out of OldMartin Jaffry? Don't he realize that blood's thicker than water?"

"I'll speak to him, " growled George. 

He hated Mr. Benjamin Doolittle's colloquialisms, though once he haddeclared them amusing, racy, of the soil, and had rebuked Genevieve'sfastidious criticisms of them on an occasion when she had interpretedher rôle of helpmeet to include that of hostess to Mr. And Mrs. Doolittle--oh, not in her own home, of course!--at luncheon, at theCountry Club!

"Well, I guess that's about all for today. "

Mr. Doolittle brought the conference to a close, hoisting himself bylinks from his chair. 

"It takes $3000 every time you circularize the constituency, youknow----"

He lounged toward the window and looked out again upon the pleasant, mellow scene around Fountain Square. And with the look his affectationof bucolic calm dropped from him. He turned abruptly. 

"What's that going on at McMonigal's corner?" he demanded sharply. "Idon't know, I am sure, " said George, with indifference, still bent uponteaching his manager that he was a free and independent citizen, inleading strings to no man. "It's been vacant since the fire in March, when Petrosini's fish market and Miss Letterblair's hat st----"

He had reached the window himself by this time, and the sentence wasdestined to remain forever unfinished. 

From the low, old-fashioned brick building on the northeast corner ofFountain Square, whose boarded eyes had stared blindly across toward theglittering orbs of its towering neighbor, the Jaffry Building, for sixmonths, a series of great placards flared. 

Planks had been removed from the windows, plate glass restored, andbehind it he read in damnable irritation:

"SOME QUESTIONS FOR CANDIDATE REMINGTON. "

A foot high, an inch broad, black as Erebus, the letters shouted at himagainst an orange background. Every window of the second story containeda placard. On the first story, in the show window where Petrosini hadbeen wont to ravish epicurean eyes by shad and red snapper, perch andtrout, cunningly imbedded in ice blocks upon a marble slab--in thatwindow, framed now in the hated orange and black, stood a woman. 

She was turning backward, for the benefit of onlookers who pressed closeto the glass, the leaves of a mammoth pad resting upon an easel. 

From their point of vantage in the second story of the Jaffry Building, the candidate and his manager could see that each sheet bore that horridheadline:

"QUESTIONS FOR CANDIDATE REMINGTON. "

The whole population of White water, it seemed to George, was crowdedabout that corner. 

"I'll be back in a minute, " said Benjie Doolittle, disappearing throughthe private office door with the black tails of his coat achievinga true horizontal behind him. As statesman and as undertaker, Mr. Doolittle never swerved from the garment which keeps green the memory ofthe late Prince Consort. 

As the door opened, the much-tried George Remington had a glimpse ofthat pleasing industrial unit, Betty Sheridan, searching through thefile for the copy of the letter to the Cummunipaw Steel Works, whichhe had recently demanded to see. He pressed the buzzer imperiously, andBetty responded with duteous haste. He pointed through the window to thecrowd in front of McMonigal's block. 

"Perhaps, " he said, with what seemed to him Spartan self-restraint, "_you_ can explain the meaning of that scene. "

Betty looked out with an air of intelligent interest. 

"Oh yes!" she said vivaciously. "I think I can. It's a VoicelessSpeech. "

"A voice l--" George's own face was a voiceless speech as he repeatedtwo syllables of his stenographer's explanation. 

"Yes. Don't you know about voiceless speeches? It's antiquated to try torun any sort of a campaign without them nowadays. "

"Perhaps you also know who that--female--" again George's power ofutterance failed him. Betty came closer to the window and peered out. 

"It's Frances Herrington who is turning the leaves now, " she saidamiably. "I know her by that ducky toque. "

"Frances Herrington! What Harvey Herrington is thinking of to allow----"George's emotion constrained him to broken utterance. "And we'redining there tonight! She has no sense of the decencies--the--the--thehospitality of existence. We won't go--I'll telephone Genevieve----"

"Fie, fie Georgie!" observed Betty. "Why be personal over a mere detailof a political campaign?"

But before George could tell her why his indignation against hisprospective hostess was impersonal and unemotional, the long figure ofMr. Doolittle again projected itself upon the scene. 

Betty effaced herself, gliding from the inner office, and George turneda look of inquiry upon his manager. 

"Well?" the monosyllable had all the force of profanity. 

"Well, the women, durn them, have brought suffrage into your campaign. "

"How?"

"How? They've got a list of every blamed law on the statute booksrelating to women and children, and they're asking on that sheet ofleaves over there, if you mean to proceed against all who are breakingthose laws here in Whitewater County. And right opposite your ownoffice! It's--it's damn smart. You ought to have got that Herringtonwoman on your committee. "

"It's indelicate, unwomanly, indecent. It shows into what unsexeddegradation politics will drag woman. But I'm relieved that that's allthey're asking. Of course, I shall enforce the law for the protection ofevery class in our community with all the power of the----"

"Oh, shucks! There's nobody here but me--you needn't unfurl Old Glory, "counseled Mr. Doolittle, a trifle impatiently. "They're asking realquestions, not blowing off hot-air. Oh, I say, who owns McMonigal'sblock since the old man died? We'll have the owner stop this circus. That's the first thing to do. "

"I'll telephone Allen. He'll know. "

Allen's office was very obliging and would report on the ownership onMcMonigal's block in ten minutes. 

Mr. Doolittle employed the interval in repeating to George some of the"Questions for Candidate Remington, " illegible from George's desk. 

"You believe that 'WOMAN'S PLACE IS IN THE HOME. ' Will you enforce thelaw against woman's night work in the factories? Over nine hundred womenof Whitewater County are doing night work in the munition plants ofAirport, Whitewater and Ondegonk. What do you mean to do about it?"

"You 'DESIRE TO CONSERVE THE THREATENED FLOWER OF WOMANHOOD. '"

A critical listener would have caught a note of ribald scorn in Mr. Doolittle's drawl, as he quoted from his candidate's statement, via thevoiceless speech placards. 

"To conserve the threatened flower of womanhood, the grape canneries ofOmega and Onicrom Townships are employing children of five and sixyears in defiance of the Child Labor Law of this State. Are you going toproceed against them?"

"'WOMAN IS MAN'S RAREST HERITAGE. ' Do you think man ought to burn heralive? Remember the Livingston Loomis-Ladd collar factory fire--fourteenwomen killed, forty-eight maimed. In how many of the factories inWhitewater, in which women work, are the fire laws obeyed? Do you meanto enforce them?"

The telephone interrupted Mr. Doolittle's hateful litany. 

Alien's bright young man begged to report that McMonigal's block washeld in fee simple by the widow of the late Michael McMonigal. 

Mr. Doolittle juggled the leaves of the telephone directory with thedazzling swiftness of a Japanese ball thrower, and in a few seconds hewas speaking to the relict of the late Michael. 

George watched him with fevered eyes, listened with fevered ears. Theconversation, it was easy to gather, did not proceed as Mr. Doolittlewished. 

"Oh! in entire charge--E. Eliot. Oh! In sympathy yourself. Oh, come now, Mrs. McMonigal----"

But Mrs. McMonigal did not come now. The campaign manager frowned as hereplaced the receiver. 

"Widow owns the place. That Eliot woman is the agent. The suffrage ganghas the owner's permission to use the building from now on to election. She says she's in sympathy. Well, we'll have to think of something----"

"It's easy enough, " declared George. "I'll simply have a set of postersprinted answering their questions. And we'll engage sandwich men tocarry them in front of McMonigal's windows. Certainly I mean to enforcethe law. I'll give the order to the _Sentinel_ press now for theanswers--definite, dignified answers. " "See here, George. " Mr. Doolittleinterrupted him with unusual weightiness of manner. "It's too far alongin the campaign for you to go flying off on your own. You've gotto consult your managers. This is your first campaign; it's mythirty-first. You've got to take advice----"

"I will not be muzzled. "

"Shucks! Who wants to muzzle, anybody! But you can't say everythingthat's inside of you, can you? There's got to be some choosing. We'vegot to help you choose. 

"The silly questions the women are displaying over there--you can'tanswer 'em in a word or in two words. This city is having a boom; everyvalve factory in the valley, every needle and pin factory, is makin'munitions today--valves and needles and pins all gone by the board forthe time being. Money's never been so plenty in Whitewater Countyand this city is feelin' the benefits of it. People are buyingthings--clothes, flour, furniture, victrolas, automobiles, rum. 

"There ain't a merchant of any description in this county but hisbusiness is booming on account of the work in the factories. You can'tantagonize the whole population of the place. Why, I dare say, some ofyour own money and Mrs. Remington's is earning three times what it wastwo years ago. The First National Bank has just declared a fifteenper cent. Dividend, and Martin Jaffry owns fifty-four per cent. Of thestock. 

"You don't want to put brakes on prosperity. It ain't decent citizenshipto try it. It ain't neighborly. Think of the lean years we've known. Youcan't do it. This war won't last forever--" Mr. Doolittle's voice wastinged with regret--"and it will be time enough to go in for playing thedeuce with business when business gets slack again. That's the time forreforms, George, --when things are dull. "

George was silent, the very presentment of a sorely harassed young man. He had not, even in a year when blamelessness rather than experiencewas his party's supreme need in a candidate, become its banner bearerwithout possessing certain political apperceptions. He knew, as BenjieDoolittle spoke, that Benjie spoke the truth--White-water city andcounty would never elect a man who had too convincingly promised tointerfere with the prosperity of the city and county. 

"Better stick to the gambling out at Erie Oval, George, " counseled thecampaign manager. "They're mostly New Yorkers that are interested inthat, anyway. "

"I'll not reply without due consideration and--er--notice, " Georgesullenly acceded to his manager and to necessity. But he hated bothDoolittle and necessity at the moment. 

That sun-bright vision of himself which so splendidly and sustaininglycompanioned him, which spoke in his most sonorous periods, which socompletely and satisfyingly commanded the reverence of Genevieve--thatGeorge Remington of his brave imaginings would not thus have answeredBenjamin Doolittle. 

Through the silence following the furniture man's departure, Betty, atthe typewriter, clicked upon Georgie's ears. An evil impulse assailedhim--impolitic, too, as he realized--impolitic but irresistible. It wasthe easiest way in which candidate Remington, heckled by suffragists, overridden by his campaign committee, mortifyingly tormented by afeeling of inadequacy, could re-establish himself in his own esteem as aman of prompt and righteous decisions. 

He might not be able to run his campaign to suit himself, but, by Jove, his office was his own!

He went into Betty's quarters and suggested to her that a due senseof the eternal fitness of things would cause her to offer him herresignation, which his own sense of the eternal fitness of things wouldlead him at once to accept. 

It seemed, he said, highly indecorous of her to remain in the employ ofRemington and Evans the while she was busily engaged in trying to thwartthe ambitions of the senior partner. He marveled that woman's boastedsensitiveness had not already led her to perceive this for herself. 

For a second, Betty seemed startled, even hurt. She colored deeply andher eyes darkened. Then the flush of surprise and the wounded feelingdied. She looked at him blankly and asked how soon it would be possiblefor him to replace her. She would leave as soon as he desired. 

In her bearing, so much quieter than usual, in the look in her face, George read a whole volume. He read that up to this time, Betty hadregarded her presence in the ranks of his political enemies as she wouldhave regarded being opposed to him in a tennis match. He read that he, with that biting little speech which he already wished unspoken, hadgiven her a sudden, sinister illumination upon the relations of workingwomen to their employers. 

He read the question in the back of her mind. Suppose (so it ran in hisconstructive fancy) that instead of being a prosperous, protected youngwoman playing the wage-earner more or less as Marie Antoinette hadplayed the milkmaid, she had been Mamie Riley across the hall, whosework was bitter earnest, whose earnings were not pin-money, but breadand meat and brother's schooling and mother's health--would George stillhave made the stifling of her views the price of her position?

And if George--George, the kind, friendly, clean-minded man would drivethat bargain, what bargain might not other men, less gentle, less noble, drive?

All this George's unhappily sensitized conscience read into BettySheridan's look, even as the imp who urged him on bade him tell her thatshe could leave at her own convenience; at once, if she pleased; thesupply of stenographers in Whitewater was adequately at demand. 

He rather wished that Penny Evans would come in; Penny would doubtlesstake a high hand with him concerning the episode, and there was nothingwhich George Remington would have welcomed like an antagonist of his ownsize and sex. 

But Penny did not appear, and the afternoon passed draggingly for thecandidate for the district attorneyship. He tried to busy himself withthe affairs of his clients, but even when he could keep away from hiswindows he was aware of the crowds in front of McMonigal's block, ofFrances Herrington, her "ducky" toque and her infernal voiceless speech. 

And when, for a second, he was able to forget these, he heard from theouter office the unmistakable sounds of a desk being permanently clearedof its present incumbent's belongings. 

After a while, Betty bade him a too courteous good-by, still with thatabominable new air of gravely readjusting her old impressions of him. And then there was nothing to do but to go home and make ready fordinner at the Herrington's, unless he could induce Genevieve to have anopportune headache. 

Of course Betty had been right. Not upon his masculine shoulders shouldthere be laid the absurd burden of political chagrin strong enough tobreak a social engagement. 

Genevieve was in her room. The library was given over to AlysBrewster-Smith, Cousin Emelene Brand, two rusty callers and thetea things. Before the drawing-room fire, Hanna slept in Malteseproprietorship. George longed with passion to kick the cat. 

Genevieve, as he saw through the open door, sat by the window. She had, it appeared, but recently come in. She still wore her hat and coat; shehad not even drawn off her gloves. And seeing her thus, absorbed in someproblem, George's sense of his wrongs grew greater. 

He had, he told himself, hurried home out of the jar and fret of a man'sday to find balm, to feel the cool fingers of peace pressed upon hoteyelids, to drink strengthening draughts of refreshment from his wife'sunquestioning belief, from the completeness of her absorption in him. And here she sat thinking of something else!

Genevieve arose, a little startled as he snapped on the lightsand grunted out something which optimism might translate into anaffectionate husbandly greeting. She came dutifully forward and raisedher face, still exquisite and cool from the outer air, for her lord'shome-coming kiss. That resolved itself into a slovenly peck. 

"Been out?" asked George unnecessarily. He tried to quell theunreasonable inclination to find her lacking in wifely devotion becauseshe had been out. 

"Yes. There was a meeting at the Woman's Forum this afternoon, " sheanswered. She was unpinning her hat before the pier glass, and in ithe could see the reflection of her eyes turned upon his image with aquestioning look. 

"The ladies seem to be having a busy day of it. "

He struggled not quite successfully to be facetious over the pretty, negligible activities of his wife's sex. "What mighty theme engaged yourattention?"

"That Miss Eliot--the real estate woman, you know--" George stiffenedinto an attitude of close attention--"spoke about the conditions underwhich women are working in the mills in this city and in the rest of thecounty--" Genevieve averted her mirrored eyes from his mirrored face. She moved toward her dressing-table. 

"Oh, she did! and is the Woman's Forum going to come to grips withthe industrial monster and bring in the millennium by the first of theyear?"

But George was painfully aware that light banter which fails to beconvincingly light is but a snarl. 

Genevieve colored slightly as she studied the condition of a pair oflong white gloves which she had taken from a drawer. 

"Of course the Woman's Forum is only for discussion, " she said mildly. "It doesn't initiate any action. " Then she raised her eyes to his faceand George felt his universe reel about him. 

For his wife's beautiful eyes were turned upon him, not in limpidadoration, not in perfect acceptance of all his views, unheard, unweighed; but with a question in their blue depths. 

The horrid clairvoyance which harassment and self-distrust had givenhim that afternoon enabled him, he thought, to translate that look. The Eliot woman, in her speech before the Woman's Forum, had doubtlessplaced the responsibility for the continuation of those factoryconditions upon the district attorney's office, had doubtless repeatedthose damn fool, impractical questions which the suffragists weredisplaying in McMonigal's windows. 

And Genevieve was asking them in her mind! Genevieve was questioninghim, his motives, his standards, his intentions! Genevieve was notintellectually a charming mechanical doll who would always answer "yes"and "no" as he pressed the strings, and maintain a comfortable vacuitywhen he was not at hand to perform the kindly act. Genevieve wasthinking on her own account. What, he wondered angrily, as hedressed--for he could not bring himself to ask her aid in escapingthe Herringtons and, indeed, was suddenly balky at the thought of theintimacies of a domestic evening--_what_ was she thinking? She was notsuch an imbecile as to be unaware how large a share of her comfortablefortune was invested in the local industry. Why, her father had beenhead of the Livingston Loomis-Ladd Collar Company, when that dreadfulfire--! And she certainly knew that his uncle, Martin Jaffry, was thechief stockholder in the Jaffry-Bradshaw Company. 

What was the question in Genevieve's eyes? Was she asking if he were theknight of those women who worked and sweated and burned, or of her andthe comfortable women of her class, of Alys Brewster-Smith withher little cottages, of Cousin Emelene with her little stocks, ofmasquerading Betty Sheridan whose sortie of independence was from thesafe vantage-grounds of entrenched privilege?

And all that evening as he watched his wife across the crystal and theroses of the Herrington table, trying to interpret the question that hadbeen in her eyes, trying to interpret her careful silence, he realizedwhat every husband sooner or later awakes to realize--that he hadmarried a stranger. 

He did not know her. He did not know what ambitions, what aspirationsapart from him, ruled the spirit behind that charming surface of flesh. 

Of course she was good, of course she was tender, of course she washigh-minded! But how wide-enveloping was the cloak of her goodness?How far did her tenderness reach out? Was her high-mindedness of thepractical or impractical variety?

From time to time, he caught her eyes in turn upon him, with thatcurious little look of re-examination in their depths. She could look athim like that! She could look at him as though appraisals were possiblefrom a wife to a husband!

They avoided industrial Whitewater County as a topic when they leftthe Herrington's. They talked with great animation and interest of thepeople at the party. Arrived at home, George, pleading press of work, went down into the library while Genevieve went to bed. Carefully theypostponed the moment of making articulate all that, remaining unspoken, might be ignored. 

It was one o'clock and he had not moved a paper for an hour, when thelibrary door opened. 

Genevieve stood there. She had sometimes come before when he had workedat night, to chide him for neglecting sleep, to bring bouillon orchocolate. But tonight she did neither. 

She did not come far into the room, but standing near the door andlooking at him with a new expression--patient, tender, the everlastingeternal look--she said: "I couldn't sleep, either. I came down to saysomething, George. Don't interrupt me----" for he was coming towardher with sounds of affectionate protest at her being out of bed. "Don't speak! I want to say--whatever you do, whatever youdecide--now--always--I love you. Even if I don't agree, I love you. "

She turned and went swiftly away. 

George stood looking at the place where she had stood, --this strange, new Genevieve, who, promising to love, reserved the right to judge. 

CHAPTER VIII. BY MARY HEATON VORSE

The high moods of night do not always survive the clear, cold light ofday. Indeed it requires the contribution of both man and wife to keep ahigh mood in married life. 

Genevieve had gone in to make her profession of faith to her husbandin a mood which touched the high altitudes. She had gone without anyconscious expectation of anything from him in the way of response. Shehad vaguely but confidingly expected him to live up to the moment. 

She had expected something beautiful, a lovely flower of thespirit--comprehension, generosity. Living up to the demand of the momentwas George's forte. Indeed, there were those among his friends who feltthat there were moments when George lived up to things too brightlyand too beautifully. His Uncle Jaffry, for instance, had his openlyskeptical moments. But George even lived up to his uncle's skepticism. He accepted his remarks with charming good humor. It was his pride thathe could laugh at himself. 

At the moment of Genevieve's touching speech he lived up to exactlynothing. He didn't even smile. He only stared at her--a stare whichsaid:

"Now what the devil do you mean by that?"

Genevieve had a flicker of bitter humor when she compared her moment ofsentiment to a toy balloon pulled down from the blue by an unsympathetichand. 

The next morning, while George was still shaving, the telephone rang. Itwas Betty. 

"Can you have lunch with me at Thorne's, where we can talk?" she askedGenevieve. "And give me a little time tomorrow afternoon?"

"Why, " Geneviève responded, "I thought you were a working girl. "

There was a perceptible pause before Betty replied. 

"Hasn't George told you?" "Told what?" Genevieve inquired. "Georgehasn't told me anything. "

"I've left the office. "

"Left! For heaven's sake, why?"

Betty's mind worked swiftly. 

"Better treat it as a joke, " was her decision. There was no pause beforeshe answered. 

"Oh, trouble with the boss. "

"You'll get over it. You're always having trouble with Penny. 

"Oh, " said Betty, "it's not with Penny this time. "

"Not with George?"

"Yes, with George, " Betty answered. "Did you think one couldn't quarrelwith the noblest of his sex? Well, one can. "

"Oh, Betty, I'm sorry. " Genevieve's tone was slightly reproachful. 

"Well, I'm not, " said Betty. "I like my present job better. It was agood thing he fired me. "

"_Fired_ you! George fired _you_?"

"Sure thing, " responded Betty blithely. "I can't stand here talking allday. What I want to know is, can I see you at lunch?"

"Yes--why, yes, of course, " said Genevieve, dazedly. Then she hung upthe receiver and stared into space. 

George, beautifully dressed, tall and handsome, now emerged from hisroom. For once his adoring wife failed to notice that in appearancehe rivaled the sun god. She had one thing she wanted to know, and shewanted to know it badly. It was, "Why did you fire Betty Sheridan?"

She asked this in the insulting "point of the bayonet" tone which angryequals use to one another the world over. 

Either question or tone would have been enough to have put George'salready sensitive nerves on edge. Both together were unbearable. It was, when you came down to it, the most awkward question in the world. 

Why, indeed, had he fired Betty Sheridan? He hadn't really givenhimself an account of the inward reasons yet. The episode had been toodisturbing; and it was George's characteristic to put off looking onunpleasant facts as long as possible. Had he been really hard up, whichhe never had been, he would undoubtedly have put away, unopened, thebills he couldn't pay. Life was already presenting him with the bill ofyesterday's ill humor, and he was not yet ready to add up the amount. Hehid himself now behind the austerity of the offended husband. 

"My dear, " he inquired in his turn, "don't you think that you had bestleave the details of my office to me?"

He knew how lame this was, and how inadequate, before Genevieve replied. 

"Betty Sheridan is not a detail of your office. She's one of my bestfriends, and I want to know why you fired her. I dare say she wasexasperating; but I can't see any reason why you should have done it. You should have let her leave. "

It was Betty, with that lamentable lack of delicacy which George hadpointed out to her, who had not been ready to leave. 

"You will have to let me be the judge of what I should or should nothave done, " said George. This piece of advice Genevieve ignored. 

"Why did you send her away?" she demanded. 

"I sent her away, if you want to know, for her insolence and her damnedbad taste. If you think--working in my office as she was--it's decent orproper on her part to be active in a campaign that is against me----"

"You mean because she's a suffragist? You sent her away for _that_! Why, really, that's _tyranny_! It's like my sending away some one working forme for her beliefs----"

They stood staring at each other, not questioningly as they hadyesterday, but as enemies, --the greater enemies that they so loved eachother. 

Because of that each word of unkindness was a doubled-edged sword. Theyquarreled. It was the first time that they had seen each other withoutillusion. They had been to each other the ideal, the lover, husband, wife. 

Now, in the dismay of his amazement in finding himself quarreling withthe perfect wife, a vagrant memory came to George that he had heardthat Genevieve had a hot temper. She certainly had. He didn't noticehow handsome she looked kindled with anger. He only knew that the rosegarden in which they lived was being destroyed by their angry hands;that the very foundation of the life they had been leading was beingundermined. 

The time of mirage and glamour was over. He had ceased being a hero andan ideal, and why? Because, forgetting his past life, his record, hisachievement, Genevieve obstinately insisted on identifying him with onesingle mistake. He was willing to concede it was a mistake. She had notonly identified him with it, but she had called him a number of woundingthings. 

"Tyrant" was the least of them, and, worse than that, she had, in avery fury of temper, told him that he "needn't take that pompous"--yes, "pompous" had been her unpleasant word--"tone" with her, when hehad inquired, more in sorrow than in anger, if this were really hisGenevieve speaking. 

There was a pause in their hostilities. They looked at each otheraghast. Aghast, they had perceived the same awful truth. Each saw thatlove [Illustration: "You mean because she's a suffragist? You sent heraway for _that_? Why, really, that's _tyranny_!"] in the other's heartwas dead, and that things never could be the same again. So they stoodlooking down this dark gulf, and the light of anger died. 

In a toneless voice: "We mustn't let Cousin Emelene and Alys hear usquarreling, " said George. And Genevieve answered, "They've gone down tobreakfast. "

The two ladies were seated at table. 

"We heard you two love birds cooing and billing, and thought we mightas well begin, " said Alys Brewster-Smith. "Regularity is of the highestimportance in bringing up a child. "

Cousin Emelene was reading the _Sentinel. _ George's quick eye glanced atthe headlines:

_Candidate Remington Heckled by Suffragists. Ask Him Leading Questions. _

"Why, dear me, " she remarked, her kind eyes on George, "it's perfectlyawful, isn't it, that they break the laws that way just for a littlemore money. But I don't see why they want to annoy dear George. Theyought to be glad they are going to get a district attorney who'll putall those things straight. I think it's very silly of them to ask him, don't you, Genevieve?"

"Let me see, " said Genevieve, taking the paper. 

"All he's got to do, anyway, is to answer, " pursued Cousin Emelene. 

"Yes, that's all, " replied Genevieve, her melancholy gaze on George. Yesterday she would have had Emelene's childlike faith. But thisstranger, who, for a trivial and tyrannical reason, had sent awayBetty--how would _he_ act?

"They showed these right opposite your windows?" she questioned. 

"Yes, " he returned. "Our friend Mrs. Herrington did it herself. It wasthe first course of our dinner. If you think that's good taste--"

"I would expect it of her, " said Alys Brewster-Smith. 

"But it makes it so easy for George, " Emelene repeated. "They'll knownow what sort of a man he is. Little children at work, just to make alittle more money--it's awful!"

"Talking about money, George, " said Alys, "have you seen to my housesyet?" "Not yet, " replied the harassed George. "You'll have to excuse mygoing into the reasons now. I'm late as it is. "

His voice had not the calm he would have wished for. As he took hisdeparture, he heard Alys saying, "If you'll let me, my dear, I'd adore helping you about thehousekeeping. I don't want to stay here and be a burden. If you'll justturn it over to me, I could cut your housekeeping expenses in half. "

"Damn the women, " was the unchivalrous thought that rose to George'slips. 

One would have supposed that trouble had followed closely enough onGeorge Remington's trail, but now he found it awaiting him in hisoffice. 

Usually, Penny was the late one. It was this light-hearted young man'scustom to blow in with so engaging an expression and so cheerful amanner that any comment on his unpunctuality was impossible. Today, instead of a gay-hearted young man, he looked more like a sentencingjudge. 

What he wanted to know was, "What have you done to Betty Sheridan? Do you mean to say that you hadthe nerve to send her away, send her out of my office without consultingme--and for a reason like that? How did you think I was going to feelabout it?"

"I didn't think about you, " said George. 

"You bet you didn't. You thought about number one and your preciousvanity. Why, if one were to separate you from your vanity, one couldn'tsee you when you were going down the street. Go on, make a frock coatgesture! Play the brilliant but outraged young district attorney. Do youknow what it was to do a thing of that kind--to fire a girl because shedidn't agree with you?"

"It wasn't because she didn't agree with me, " George interrupted, withheat. 

"It was the act of a cad, " Penny finished. "Look here, young man, I'mgoing to tell you a few plain truths about yourself. You're not the sortof person that you think you are. You've deceived yourself the way otherpeople are deceived about you--by your exterior. But inside of thatgood-looking carcass of yours there's a brain composed of cheese. Youweren't only a cad to do it--you were a fool!" "You can't use that toneto me!" cried George. 

"Oh, can't I just? By Jove, it's things like that that make one wake up. Now I know why women have a passion for suffrage. I never knew before, "Penny went on, with more passion than logic. "You had a nerve to makethat statement of yours. You're a fine example of chivalry. You letloose a few things when you wrote that fool statement, but you did aworse trick when you fired Betty Sheridan. God, you're a pinhead--fromthe point of view of mere tactics. Sometimes I wonder whether you've_any_ brain. "

George had turned white with anger. 

"That'll just about do, " he remarked. 

"Oh, no, it won't, " said Penny. "It won't do at all. I'm not going toremain in a firm where things like this can happen. I wouldn't risk myreputation and my future. You're going to do the decent thing. You'regoing to Betty Sheridan and tell her what you think of yourself. Shewon't come back, I suppose, but you might ask her to do that, too. Andnow I'm going out, to give you time to think this over. And tonightyou can tell me what you've decided. And then I'll tell you whether I'mgoing to dissolve our partnership. Your temper's too bad to decidenow. Maybe when you've done that she won't treat me like an unsavorystranger. "

He left, and George sat down to gloomy reflection. 

To do him justice, the idea of apologizing to Betty had already occurredto him. If he put off the day of reckoning, when the time came he wouldpay handsomely. He realized that there was no use in wasting energy andbeing angry with Penny. He looked over the happenings of the last fewhours and the part he had played in them, and what he saw failed toplease him. He saw himself being advised by Doolittle to concentrate onthe Erie Oval. He heard him urging him not to be what Doolittle calledunneighborly. The confiding words of Cousin Emelene rang in his ears. 

He saw himself, in a fit of ill-temper, discharging Betty. He sawGenevieve, lovely and scornful, urging him to be less pompous. All this, he had to admit, he had brought on himself. Why should he have been soangry at these questions? Again Emelene's remark echoed in his ear. Hehad only to answer them--and he was going to concentrate on the ErieOval!

There came a knock on the door, and a breezy young woman demanded, "D'you want a stenographer?"

George wanted a stenographer, and wanted one badly. He put from him thewhole vexed question in the press of work, and by lunch time he made uphis mind to have it out with Betty. There was no use putting it off, andhe knew that he could have no peace with himself until he did. He feltvery tired--as though he had been doing actual physical work. He thoughtof yesterday as a land of lost content. But he couldn't find Betty. 

He bent his steps toward home, and as he did so affection for Genevieveflooded his heart. He so wanted yesterday back--things as they had been. He so wanted her love and her admiration. He wanted to put his tiredhead on her shoulder. He couldn't bear, not for another moment, to be atodds with her. 

He wondered what she had been doing, and how she had spent the morning. He imagined her crying her heart out. He leaped up the steps and ran upto his room. In it was Alys Brewster-Smith. She started slightly. 

"I was just looking for some cold cream, " she explained. 

"Where's Genevieve?" George asked. 

"Oh, she's out, " Alys replied casually. "She left a note for you. "

The note was a polite and noncommittal line informing George thatGenevieve would not be back for lunch. He felt as though a lump of icereplaced his heart. His disappointment was the desperate disappointmentof a small boy. 

He went back to the gloomy office and worked through the interminableday. Late in the afternoon Mr. Doolittle lounged heavily in. 

"Have some gum, George?" he inquired, inserting a large piece in his ownmouth. 

He chewed rhythmically for a space. George waited. He knew that chewinggum was not the ultimate object of Mr. Doolittle's visit. 

"Don't women beat the Dutch?" he inquired at last. "Yes sir, mister;they do!"

"What's up now?" George inquired. "The suffragists again?"

"Nope; not on the face of it they ain't. It's the Woman's Forum that'sdoin' this. They've got a sweet little idea. 'Seein' Whitewater Sweat'they call it. 

"They're goin' around in bunches of twos, or mebbe blocks o' five, seein' all the sights; an' you know women ain't reasonable, an' youcan't reason with them. They're goin' to find a pile o' things theywon't like in this little burg o' ours, all right, all right. An'they'll want to have things changed right off. I want to see thingschanged m'self. I'd like to, but them things take time, an' that's whatwomen won't understand. 

"Jimminee, I've heard of towns all messed up and candidates ruined justbecause the women got wrought up over tenement-house an' fire laws an'truck like that. Yes sir, they're out seein' Whitewater this minut, orwill be if you can't divert their minds. Call 'em off, George, if youcan. Get 'em fussy about sumpen else. "

"Why, what have I to do with it?" George inquired. 

"Well, I didn't know but what you might have sumpen, " said Mr. Doolittlemildly. "It's that young lady that works here, Miss Sheridan, an' yourwife what's organizin' it. Planning it all out to Thorne's at lunch theywas, an' Heally was sittin' at the next table and beats it to me. Youcan see for yerself what a hell of a mess they'll make!"

CHAPTER IX. BY ALICE DUER MILLER

It was a relief to both men when at this point the door of the officeopened and Martin Jaffry entered. 

Not since the unfortunate anti-suffrage statement of George's had UncleMartin dropped in like this. George, looking at him with that firstswift glance that often predetermines a whole interview, made up hismind that bygones were to be bygones. He greeted his uncle with thewarmest cordiality. 

"Well, George, " said Uncle Martin, "how are things going?"

"I'm going to be elected, if that's what you mean, " answered George. 

Doolittle gave a snort. "Indeed, are ye?" said he. "As a friend andwell-wisher, I'm sure I'm delighted to hear the news. " "Do I understandthat you have your doubts, Mr. Doolittle?" Jaffry inquired mildly. 

"There's two things we need and need badly, Mr. Jaffry, " said Doolittle. "One's money--"

"A small campaign contribution would not be rejected?"

"But there's something we need more than money--and God knows I neverexpected to say them words--and that's common sense. "

"Good, " said Uncle Martin, "I have plenty of that, too!"

"Then for the love of Mike pass some of it on to this precious nephew ofyours. "

"What seems to be the matter?"

"It's them women, " said Doolittle. 

Uncle Martin turned inquiringly to George: "The tender flowers?" hesuggested. 

"Look here, Uncle Martin, " said George, who had had a good deal of thissort of thing to bear, "I don't understand you. Do you believe in womansuffrage?"

Uncle Martin contemplated a new crumpling of his long-suffering capbefore he answered. "Yes and no, George. I believe in it in the same waythat I believe in old age and death. I can't avoid them by denying theirexistence. "

"But you fight against them, and put them off as long as you can. "

"But I yield a little to them, too, George. What is it? Has Genevievebecome a convert to suffrage?"

"Has Genevieve--has my wife----"

Then George remembered that his uncle was an older man and that chivalryis not limited to the treatment of the weaker sex. 

"No, " he said with a calm hardly less magnificent than the tempest wouldhave been, "no, Uncle Martin, Genevieve has not become a suffragist. "

"Well, " said Doolittle rising, as if such things were hardly worth hisvaluable time, "I fail to see the difference between a suffragette an' awoman who goes pokin' her nose into what----"

"You're speaking of my wife, Mr. Doolittle, " said George, with asignificant lighting of the eye. 

"Speakin' in general, " said Doolittle. 

Uncle Martin was interested. "Has Genevieve been--well, we won't saypoking the nose--but taking a responsible civic interest where it wouldbe better if she didn't?"

"It seems, " answered George, casting an angry glance at his campaignmanager, "that Mr. Doolittle has heard from a friend of his whooverheard a conversation between Betty Sheridan and my wife at luncheon. From this he inferred that the two were planning an investigation ofsome of the city's problems. "

Uncle Martin looked relieved. 

"Oh, your wife and your stenographer. That can be stopped, I suppose, without undue exertion. "

"Betty is no longer my stenographer. "

"Left, has she?" said Jaffry. "I had an idea she would not stay with youlong. "

This intimation was not agreeable to George. He would have liked toexplain that Miss Sheridan's departure had been dictated by the willof the head of the firm; in fact he opened his mouth to do so. But theremembrance that this would entail a long and wearisome exposition ofhis reasons caused him to remain silent, and his uncle went on: "Well, anyhow, you can get Geneviève to drop it. "

If Doolittle had not been there, George would have been glad to discusswith his uncle, who had, after all, a sort of worldly shrewdness, howfar a man is justified in controlling his wife's opinions. But before anaudience now a trifle unsympathetic, he could not resist the temptationof making the gesture of a man magnificently master in his own house. 

He smiled quite grandly. "I think I can promise that, " he said. 

Doolittle got up slowly, bringing his jaws together in a relentless biteon the unresisting gum. 

"Well, " he said, "that's all there is to it. " And he added significantlyas he reached the door, "If you kin _do_ it!"

When the campaign manager had gone, Uncle Martin asked very, verygently: "You don't feel any doubt of being able to do it, do you, George?"

"About my ability to control--I mean influence, my wife? I feel no doubtat all. "

"And Penfield, I suppose, can tackle Betty? You won't mind my sayingthat of the two I think your partner has the harder job. "

A slight cloud appeared upon the brow of the candidate. 

"I don't feel inclined to ask any favor of Penny just at present, " hesaid haughtily. "Has it ever struck you, Uncle Martin, that Penny has anunduly emotional, an almost feminine type of mind?"

"No, " said the other, "it hasn't, but that is perhaps because I havenever been sure just what the feminine type of mind is. "

"You know what I mean, " answered George, trying to conceal hisannoyance at this sort of petty quibbling. "I mean he is too personal, over-excitable, irrational and very hard to deal with. "

"Dear me, " said Jaffry. "Is Geneviève like that?"

"Geneviève, " replied her husband loyally, "is much better poised thanmost women, but--yes, --even she--all women are more or less like that. "

"All women and Penny. Well, George, you have my sympathy. An excitablepartner, an irrational stenographer, and a wife that's very hard to dealwith!"

"I never said Geneviève was hard to deal with, " George almost shouted. 

"My mistake--thought you did, " answered his uncle, now moving rapidlyaway. "Let me know the result of the interview, and we'll talk over waysand means. " And he shut the door briskly behind him. 

George walked to the window, with his hands in his pockets. He alwaysliked to look out while he turned over grave questions in his mind;but this comfort was now denied to him, for he could not help beingdistracted by the voiceless speech still relentlessly turning its pagesin the opposite window. 

The heading now was:

DOES THE FIFTY-FOUR-HOUR-A-WEEK LAW APPLY TO FLOWERS?

He flung himself down on his chair with an exclamation. He knew he hadto think carefully about something which he had never considered before, and that was his wife's character. 

Of course he liked to think about Geneviève--; of her beauty, herabilities, her charms; and particularly he liked to think about her lovefor him. 

A week ago he would have met the present situation very simply. He wouldhave put his arm about her and said: "My darling, I think I'd a littlerather you dropped this sort of thing for the present. " And that wouldhave been enough. 

But he knew it would not be enough now. He would have to have a reason, a case. 

"Heavens, " he thought, "imagine having to talk to one's wife as if shewere the lawyer for the other side. "

He did not notice that he was reproaching Geneviève for being tooimpersonal, too unemotional and not irrational enough. 

When he went home at five, he had thought it out. He put his head intothe sitting-room, where Alys was ensconced behind the tea-kettle. 

"Come in, George dear, " she called graciously, "and let me give you areally good cup of tea. It's some I've just ordered for you, and I thinkyou'll find it an improvement on what you've been accustomed to. " Georgeshut the door again, pretending he had not heard; but he had had timeenough to note that dear little Eleanor was building houses out of hismost treasured books. 

The memory of his quarrel with his wife had been partly obliterated bymemories of so many other quarrels during the day that it was only whenhe was actually standing in her room that he remembered how very bittertheir parting had been. 

He stood looking at her doubtfully, and it was she who came forward andput her arms about him. They clung to each other like two children whohave been frightened by a nightmare. 

"We mustn't quarrel again, George, " she said. "I've had a real, true, old-fashioned pain in my heart all day. But I think I understand betternow than I did. I lunched with Betty and she made me see. "

"What did Betty make you see?" asked George nervously, for he had notperfect confidence in Miss Sheridan's visions. 

"That it was all a question of efficiency. She said that in business aman's stenographer is just an instrument to make his work easier, and iffor any reason at all that instrument does not suit him he is justifiedin getting rid of it, and in finding one that does. "

"Betty is very generous, " he said coldly. He wanted to hear his wife saythat she had not thought him pompous; it was very hard to be thankfulfor a mere ethical rehabilitation. 

Part of his thought-out plan was that Geneviève must herself tell himof the Woman's Forum's investigation; it would not do for him to lether know he had heard of it through a political eavesdropper. So after amoment he added casually:

"And what else did Betty have to say?"

"Nothing much. "

His heart sank. Was Geneviève becoming uncandid?

"Nothing else, " he said. "Just to justify me in your eyes?"

She hesitated, "No, that was not quite all, but it is too early to talkabout it yet. "

"Anything that interests you, my dear, I should like to hear about fromthe beginning. " Perhaps Geneviève was not so unemotional after all, forat this expression of his affection, her eyes filled with tears. 

"I long to tell you, " she said. "I only hesitated on your account, butof course I want all your help and advice. It's this: There seems tobe no doubt that the conditions under which women are working inour factories are hideous--dangerous--the law is broken with perfectimpunity. I know you can't act on rumors and hearsay. Even theinspectors don't give out the truth. And so we are going to persuade theWoman's Forum to abandon its old policy of mere discussion. 

"We--Betty and I--are going to get the members for once to act--to makean investigation; so that the instant you come into the office you willhave complete information at your disposal--facts, and facts and factson which you can act. "

She paused and looked eagerly at her husband, who remained silent. Seeing this she went on:

"I know what you're thinking. I thought of it myself. Am I justified inusing my position in the Woman's Forum to further your political career?Well, my answer is, it isn't your political career, only; it's truth andjustice that will be furthered. "

Here in the home there was no voiceless speech to make the viewintolerable, and George moved away from his wife and walked to thewindow. He looked out on his own peaceful trees and lawn, and on Hanna, like a tiger in the jungle, stalking a competent little sparrow. 

A temptation was assailing George. Suppose he did put his opposition tothis investigation on a high and mighty ground? Suppose he announced amoral scruple? But no, he cast Satan behind him. 

"Geneviève, " he said, turning sharply toward her, "this question putsour whole attitude to a test. If you and I are two separate individuals, with different responsibilities, different interests, differentopinions, then we ought to be consistent; that ought to mean economicindependence of each other, and equal suffrage; it means that husbandand wife may become business competitors and political opponents. 

"But if, as you know I believe, a man and woman who love each other areone, are a unit as far as society is concerned, why then our interestsare identical, and it is simply a question of which of us two is betterable to deal with any particular situation. "

"But that is what I believe, too, George. "

"I hoped it was, dear; I know it used to be. Then you must let me actfor you in this matter. "

"Yes, in the end; but an investigation--"

"My darling, politics is not an ideal; it is a practical humaninstitution. Just at present, from the political point of view, such aninvestigation would do me incalculable harm. "

"George!"

He nodded. "It would probably lose me the election. "

"But why?"

"Geneviève, am I your political representative or not?"

"You are, " she smiled at him, "and my dear love as well; but may I noteven know why?"

"If you dismissed the cook, and I summoned you before me and bade yougive me your reasons for such an action, would you not feel in yourheart that I was disputing your judgment?"

She looked at him honestly. "Yes, I should. "

"And I would not do such a discourteous thing to you. In the home youare absolute. Whatever you do, whatever you decide, is right. I wouldnot dream of questioning. Will you not give me the same confidence in myspecial department?"

There was a short pause; then Geneviève held out her hand. 

"Yes, George, " she said, "I will, but on one condition----"

"_I_ did not make conditions, Geneviève. "

"You do not have to, my dear. You know that I am really yourrepresentative in the house; that I am really always thinking of yourwishes. You must do the same as my political representative. I mean, ifI am not to do this work myself, you must do it for me. "

"Even if I consider it unwise?"

"Unwise to protect women and children?"

"Geneviève, " he said seriously, as one who confides something not alwaysconfided to women, "enforcing law sometimes does harm. "

"But an investigation----"

"That's where you are ignorant, my dear. If an investigation is made, especially if the women mix themselves up in it, then we shall have nochoice but enforcement. "

She had sunk down on her sofa, but now she sprang up. "And you don'tmean to enforce the law in respect of women? Is that why you don't wantthe investigation?"

"Not at all. You are most unjust. You are most illogical, Geneviève. AllI am asking is that the whole question should not be taken up at thismoment--just before election. "

"But this is the only moment when we can find out whether or not you area candidate who will do what we want. "

"_We_, Geneviève! Who do you mean by 'we'?"

She stared for a second at him, her eyes growing large and dark withastonishment. 

"Oh, George, " she gasped finally, "I think I meant women when I said'we. ' George, I'm afraid I'm a _suffragist_. And oh, " she added, with asort of wail, "I don't want to be, I don't want to be!"

"Damn Betty Sheridan, " exclaimed George. "This is all her doing. "

His wife shook her head. "No, " she said, "it wasn't Betty who made mesee. "

"Who was it?"

"It was you, George. "

"I don't understand you. "

"You made me see why women want to vote for themselves. How can yourepresent me, when we disagree fundamentally?"

"How can we disagree fundamentally when we love each other?"

"You mean that because we love each other, I must think as you do?"

"What else could I mean, darling?"

"You might have meant that you would think as I do. "

George glanced at her in deep offense. 

"We have indeed drifted far apart, " he said. 

At this moment there was a knock at the door, and the news was conveyedto George that Mr. Evans was downstairs asking to see him. 

"Oh dear, " said Geneviève, "it seems as if we never could get a momentby ourselves nowadays. What does Penny want?"

"He wants to tell me whether he intends to dissolve partnership or not. "

Any fear that his wife had disassociated herself from his interestsshould have been dispelled by the tone in which she exclaimed: "Dissolvepartnership! Penny? Well, I never in my life! Where would Penny bewithout you, I should like to know! He must be crazy. "

These words made George feel happier than anything that had happened tohim throughout this day. His self-esteem began to revive. 

"I think Penny has been a little hasty, " he said, judicially but notunkindly. "He lost all self-control when he heard I had let Betty go. "

"Isn't that like a man, " said Geneviève, "to throw away his whole futurejust because he loses his temper?"

George did not directly answer this question, and his wife went on. "However, it will be all right. He has seen Betty this afternoon, andshe won't let him do anything foolish. "

George glanced at her. "You mean that Betty will prevent his leaving thefirm?"

"Of course she will. "

George walked to the door. 

"I seem to owe a good deal to my former stenographer, " he said, "mywife, my partner; next, perhaps it will be my election. "

CHAPTER X. BY ETHEL WATTS MUMFORD

Penny, pacing the drawing-room with pantheresque strides, came to atense halt as Remington entered. 

"Well?" he said, his eyes hard, his unwelcoming hands thrust deep intohis pockets. 

That identical "well" with its uptilt of question had been on George'stongue. It was a monosyllable that demanded an answer. Penny had gotahead of him, forced him, as it were, into the witness chair, and heresented it. 

"Seems to me, " he began hotly, "that you were the one who was going tomake the statements--' whether or no, ' I believe, we were to continue inpartnership. "

"Perhaps, " retorted Penny, with the air of allowing no great importanceto that angle of the argument, "but what I want to know is, _are_you going to be a square man, and own up you were peeved into beinga tyrant? And when you've done that, are you going to tell Betty, andapologize?"

George hesitated, trapped between his irritation and the still smallvoice. 

"Look here, " he said, with that amiable suavity that had won him many aconcession, "you know well enough I don't want to hurt Betty's feelings. If she feels that way about it, of course I'll apologize. "

His partner looked at him in blank amazement. 

"Gad!" he exclaimed as if examining a particularly fine specimen of somerare beetle, "what a bounder. "

"Meaning me?" snapped George. 

"Don't dare to quibble. Look me in the eye. "

There was a third degree fatality about the usually debonair Penny thatexacted obedience. George unwillingly looked him in the eye, and had aghastly feeling of having his suddenly realized smallness X-rayed. 

"You know damned well you acted like a cad, " Penny continued, "and Iwant to know, for all our sakes, if you're man enough to own it?"

George's fundamental honesty mastered him. Anger died from his eyes. Hisclenched hands relaxed and began an unconscious and nervous explorationfor a cigarette. 

"Since you put it that way, " he said, "and it happens that my conscienceagrees with you--I'll go you. I _was_ a cad, and I'll tell Betty so. Confound it!" he growled, "I don't know _what's_ come over me thesedays. I've got to get a grip on myself. "

"You _bet_ you have, " said Penny, hauling his fists from his trousers asif with an effort. Then he grinned. "Betty said you would. "

George's eyes darkened. 

"And I'll tell you now, " Penny went on, "since you've turned out atleast half-decent, Betty'll let you off that apology thing. _She_wasn't the one who was exacting it--not she. _I_ couldn't stand foryour highfalutin excuses for being--well, never mind--we all get our offdays. But don't you get off again like that if----" Penny hesitated. "If you want me for a partner, " which seemed the obvious conclusion, wastame. "If you want to hang on to any one's respect, " he finished. 

"Say, though, " he murmured, "Betty'll give me 'what for' for drubbingyou. She actually took your side--said--oh, never mind--tried to makeme think of her just as if she was any old Mamie--the stenog--tried toprune out personal feeling. "

"By Jove, " he ruminated, "that girl's a corker!"

He raised forgiving eyes from his contemplation of the rug. 

"Well, old man, blow me to a Scotch and soda, and I'll be going. Dingedif it wouldn't have broken me all up to have busted with you, even ifyou are a box of prunes. Shake. "

George shook, but he was far from happy. What he had gained in peace ofmind he had lost in self-conceit. His resentment against the pinch ofcircumstance was deepening to cancerous vindictiveness. 

As Pennington left with a cheery good-by and a final half-cynical wordof advice "to get onto himself" George mounted the stairs slowly andcame face to face with Geneviève, obviously in wait for him. 

"What happened?" she inquired, with an anxious glance at his corrugatedbrow. 

George did not feel in a mood to describe his retreat, if not defeat. 

"Oh, nothing. We had a highball. I think I made him--well--it's allright. "

"There, I knew Betty'd make him see reason, " she smiled. "I'm awfullyglad. I've a real respect for Penny's judgment after all, you know. "

"Meaning, you have your doubts about mine. "

"No, meaning only just what I said--_just_ that. By the way, George, Iwish you'd take time to look into Alys' real estate. Somebody ought to, and if you're really representing her----"

"Oh, good heavens!" he exclaimed impatiently, angered by her swifttransition from his own to another's affairs. "I can't! I simply can't!Haven't you any conception of how busy I am?"

"I know, dear; I _do_ know. But something must be done. The HealthDepartment, " she explained, "has sent in complaint after complaint, and Miss Eliot simply won't handle the property unless she's allowed tospend a lot setting things to rights. Alys says it's absurd; none of theother property owners out there are doing anything, and _she_ won't. So, nobody's looking after it, and somebody should. "

"Who told you all this?" he demanded. "Miss E. Eliot, I suppose. "

His wife nodded. "And she's right, " she added. 

"Well, perhaps she is, " he allowed. "I'll get Alien to act as her agentagain. He's in with all the politicians; he ought to be able to stalloff the department. "

The words slipped out before he realized their import, but atGenevieve's wide stare of amazement he flushed crimson. "I mean--lots ofthese complaints are really mere red tape; some self-important employeeis trying to look busy. A little investigation usually puts thatstraight. "

"Of course, " she acquiesced, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "Thathappens, too, but Miss Eliot says that the conditions out there arereally dreadful. "

"I'll talk to Allen, " said George with an affectation of easy dismissalof the subject. 

But Genevieve's mind appeared to have grown suddenly persistent. At dinner she again brought up the subject, this time directing hertroubled gaze and troubling words at her guest. 

"Alys, " she said abruptly, "I really think you ought to go out toKentwood--to see about your property out there, I mean. "

Mrs. Brewster-Smith looked up, rolling her large eyes in frankamazement. 

"Go out there? What for? It isn't the sort of a district a lady cares tobe seen in, I'm told; and, besides, George is looking after that forme. _He_ understands such matters, and I frankly own _I_ don't. Businessmakes me quite dizzy, " she added with a flash of very white teeth. 

Geneviève hesitated, then went to the point. 

"But you must advise with your agent, Alys. The property is _yours_. "

Alys raised sharply penciled brows. "I have utter confidence in George, "she answered in a tone of finality that brought an adoring look fromEmelene, and her usual Boswellian echo: "Of _course_. "

George squirmed uneasily. Such a vote of confidence implied acceptedresponsibility, and he acknowledged to himself that he wanted to andwould dodge the unwelcome burden. He turned a benign Jovian expressionon Mrs. Brewster-Smith and condescended to explain. 

"I have considered what is best for you, and I will myself see Allen andrequest him to take your real-estate affairs in charge again. NeitherSampson nor--er--Eliot is, I think, advisable for your best interests. "

At the mention of the last name Genevieve's expressive face stretched tospeak; then she closed her lips with self-controlled determination. Mrs. Brewster-Smith looked at her host in scandalized amazement. 

"But I _told_ you, " she almost whimpered, "that his wife is simplyimpossible. "

George smiled tolerantly. "But his wife isn't doing the business. It'sthe business, not the social interests, we have to consider. 

"Oh, but she is in the business, " Alys explained. "I think it's becauseshe's jealous of him; she wants to be around the office and watch him. "

Geneviève interposed. "Mrs. Allen owns a lot of land herself, and shelooks after it. It seems quite natural to me. "

"But she _has_ a husband, " Alys rebuked. 

"Yes, " agreed Geneviève, "but she probably married him for a husband, not a business agent. "

George felt the reins of the situation slipping from him, so he jerkedthe curb of conversation. 

"We are beside the issue, " he said in his most legal manner. "The factis that Allen knows more about the Kentwood district and the factoryvalues than any one else, and I feel it my duty to advise Alys to leaveher affairs in his hands. I'll see him for you in the morning. "

He turned to Alys with a return of tolerantly protective inflection inhis voice. 

Geneviève shrugged, a faint ghost of a shrug. Had George been lessabsorbed in his own mental discomforts, he would have discovered thereand then that the matter of his speech, not the manner of his delivery, was what held his wife's attention. No longer could rounded periods andeloquent sophistry hide from her his thoughts and intentions. 

A telephone call interrupted the meal. He answered it with relief, bowing a hurried, self-important excuse to the ladies. But the voicethat came over the wire was not modulated in tones of flattery. 

"Say, " drawled the campaign manager, "you'd better get a hump on, andcome over here to headquarters. There's a couple of gents here who wanta word with you. "

The tone was ominous, and George stiffened. "Very well, I'll be rightover. But you can pretty well tell them where I stand on the mainissues. Who's at headquarters?"

A snort of disgust greeted the inquiry. The snort told George thatseasoned campaigners did not use the telephone with such casual lack ofcircumspection. The words were in like manner enlightening. "Well, theremight be Mr. Julius Caesar, and then again Mr. George Washington mightdrop in. What I'm putting you wise to, " he added sharply, "is that you'dbetter get on to your job. "

There was a click as of a receiver hung up with a jerk, and a subduedgiggle that testified to the innocent attention of the telephoneoperator. 

With but a pale reflection of his usual courtesy the harassed candidateleft the bosom of his family. No sooner had he taken his departure thanthe bosom heaved. 

"My dear girl, " said Alys, "if you take that tone with your husbandyou'll never hold him--never. Men won't stand for it. You're onlyhurting yourself. "

"What tone?" Genevieve inquired as she rose calmly and led the way tothe drawing-room. 

"I mean"--Mrs. Brewster-Smith slipped a firm, white hand acrossGenevieve's shoulders--"you shouldn't try to force issues. It looks asif you didn't have confidence in your husband, and men, to _do_ and _be_their best, must feel perfect trust from the woman they love. You don'tmind my being so frank, dear, but we women must help one another--by ourexperience and our intuitions. "

Geneviève looked at her. Oblique angles had become irritatinglyfascinating. "I'm beginning to think so more and more, " she replied. 

"It's for your own good, dear, " Alys smiled. 

"Yes, " Geneviève agreed. "I understand. Things that hurt are often forour good, aren't they? We have to be _made_ to realize facts really toknow them. "

"Coffee, dear?" inquired Alys, assuming the duties of hostess. 

Geneviève shook her head. "No. I find I've been rather wakeful of late:perhaps it's coffee. Excuse me. I must telephone. "

A moment later she returned beaming. 

"I have borrowed a car for tomorrow, and I want you and Emelene to comewith me for a little spin. We ought to have a bright day; the night iswonderful. Poor George, " she sighed, "I wish he didn't have to be awayso much. "

"His career is yours, you know, " kittenishly bromidic, Emelene comfortedher. The following day fulfilled the promise of its predecessor. Clearand balmy, it invited to the outer, world, and it was with pleasedanticipation that Genevieve's guests prepared for the promised outing. Geneviève glanced anxiously into her gold mesh bag. The motor was hired, not borrowed. 

She had permitted herself this one white lie. 

She ushered her guests into the tonneau and took her place beside thechauffeur. Their first few stops were for such prosaic purchases as thehousehold made necessary; there was a pause at the post office, anotherat the Forum, where Geneviève left two highly disgruntled women waitingfor her while with a guilty sense of teasing her prey she prolonged herbusiness. The sight of their stiffened figures and averted faces whenshe returned to them kindled a new amusement. 

At last they were settled comfortably, and the car turned toward thesuburbs. 

The town streets were passed and lines of villa homes thinned. Theornate colonial gates of the Country Club flashed by. Now the sky tothe right was dark with the smoke of the belching chimneys of manyfactories. For a block or two cottages of the better sort flanked theroad; then, grim, ugly and dilapidated, stretched the twin "improved"sections of Kentwood and Powderville. In the air was an acrid odor. Sootbegrimed everything. The sodden ground was littered with refuse betweenthe shacks, which were dignified by the title of "Workmen's Cottages. "

Amid the confusion, irregular trodden paths led, short-cutting, towardthe clattering, grinding munition plants. For a space of at least halfan acre around the huge iron buildings the ground, with sinister import, was kept clear of dwellings, but in all directions outside of theinclosure thousands of new yellow-pine shacks testified to the suddendemand for labor. A large weather-beaten signboard at a wired cross-roadbore the name of "Kentwood, " plus the advice that the office wasadjacent for the purchase or lease of the highly desirable villa sites. 

The motor drew up and Genevieve alighted. For the first time since theircourse had been turned toward the unlovely but productive outskirts, Geneviève faced her passengers. Alys' face was pale. Emelene'sexpression was puzzled and worried, as a child's is worried when thechild is suddenly confronted by strange and gloomy surroundings. 

"There is some one in the renting office, " said Geneviève with quietdetermination. "I'll find out. We shall need a guide to go around withus. Emelene, you needn't get out unless you wish to. "

Emelene shuffled uneasily, half rose, and collapsed helplessly backon the cushions, like a baby who has encountered the resistance of hisbuggy strap. 

"I--if you'll excuse me, Geneviève, dear, I won't get out. I've onlygot on my thin kid slippers. I didn't expect to put foot on the pavementthis morning, you know. "

"Very well, then, Alys!" Genevieve's voice assumed a note of command hermild accents had never before known. 

Alys' brilliant eyes snapped. "I have no desire, " she said firmly, withall the dignity of an affronted lady, "to go into this matter. " "I knowyou haven't. But I'm going to walk through. _I_ am making a report forthe Woman's Forum. "

Alys' face crimsoned with anger. 

"You have no right to do such a thing, " she exclaimed. "I shall refuseyou permission. You will have to obtain a permit. "

"I have one, " Geneviève retorted, "from the Health Department. And--I amto meet one of the officers here. "

Mrs. Brewster-Smith's descent from the tonneau was more rapid thangraceful. 

"What are you trying to do?" she demanded. "Geneviève, I don'tunderstand you. "

"Don't you?"

The diffident girl had suddenly assumed the incisive strength ofobservant womanhood. 

"I think you _do_. I am going to show you your own responsibilities, ifthat's a possible thing. I'm not going to let you throw them on Georgebecause he's a man and your kin; and I shan't let him throw them on anirresponsible agent because he has neither the time nor the inclinationto do justice to himself, to you, nor to these people to whom he isresponsible. "

She waved a hand down the muddy, jumbled street. 

The advent of an automobile had had its effect. Eager faces appearedat windows and doors. Children frankly curious and as frankly neglectedclimbed over each other, hanging on the ragged fences. Two mongrel dogsstrained at their chains, yelping furiously. Geneviève crossed tothe little square building bearing a gilt "office" sign. There was noresponse to her imperative knock, but a middle-aged man appeared on theporch of the adjoining shack and observed her curiously. 

"Wanta rent?" he called jëeringly. 

"Are you in charge here?" Geneviève inquired. 

"Sorter, " he temporized. "Watcha want?"

"I want some one who knows something about it to go around Kentwood withus. "

"What for?" he snarled. "I got my orders. "

"From whom?" countered Geneviève. 

"None of your business, as I can see. " He eyed her narrowly. "But myorders is to keep every one nosin' around here without no good raison_out_ of the place--and I don't think _you're_ here to rent, nor yourfriend, neither. Besides, there ain't nothin' to rent. "

Mrs. Brewster-Smith colored. The insult to her ownership of the premisesstung her to resentment. 

"My good man, " she said sharply. "I happen to be the proprietor of NorthKent wood. "

"Then you'd better beat it. " The guardian grinned. "There's a dame beenhere with one of them fellers from the town office. "

"Where are they now?" questioned Genevieve sharply. 

"Went up factory way. But if you _ain't_ one of them lady nosies, you'dbetter beat it, I tell you. "

Genevieve looked up the street. "Very well, we'll walk on up. This isNorth Kentwood, isn't it?"

"Ain't much choice, " he shrugged, "but it is. You can smell it a mile. Say, you lady owner there"--he laughed at his own astuteness in notbeing taken in--"you know the monikers, don't you? South Kentwood, 'Stinktown'; North Kentwood, 'Swilltown'?" He grinned, pulled at hiship pocket and, extracting a flat glass flask, took a prolonged swig andreplaced the bottle with a leer. 

The two incongruous visitors were already negotiating the muddythoroughfare between the dilapidated dwellings. Presently these gaveplace to roughly knocked together structures for two and three families. 

The number of children was surprising. Now and again a shrill-voicedwoman, who seemed the prototype of her who lived in the shoe, came toadmonish her young and stare with hostile eyes at the invaders. Refuse, barrels, cans, pigs, dogs, chickens, were on all sides, with here andthere a street watering trough, fed, apparently, by an occasional tapat the wide-apart hydrants, installed by the factories for protection incase of fire, as evidenced by the signs staked by the apparatus. 

"What do they pay you for these cottages?" Geneviève inquired suddenly. 

Mrs. Brewster-Smith, whose curiosity concerning her possessions hadbeen aroused by the physical evidence of the same, balanced on a rut andsurveyed her tormentor angrily. 

"I'm sure I don't know. I've told you before I don't understand suchmatters, and I see nothing to be gained by coming here. "

Geneviève pushed open a battered gate, walked up to the door andknocked. 

"What are you doing?" her companion called, querulously. 

A noise of many pattering feet on bare floors, a strident order forsilence, and the door swung open. A young girl stood in the doorway. Behind her were a dozen or more children, varying from toddlers to gawkygirls and boys of school age. 

Genevieve's eyes widened. "Dear me, " she exclaimed, "they aren't all_yours_!"

The young woman grinned mirthlessly. "I should say not!" she snapped. "They pays me to look out for 'em--their fathers and mothers in thefactory. Watcha want?"

"What do you pay for a house like this?"

The hired mother's brow wrinkled, and her lips drew back in an uglysnarl. "They robs us, these landlords does. We gotter be 'longside theworks, so they robs us. What do I pay for this? Thirty a month, and atthat 'tain't fit for no dawg to live in. I could knock up a shack likethis with tar paper, I could. 

"And what do we get? I gotter haul the water in a bucket, and cook on anoil stove, and they hists the price of the ile, 'cause he comes by ina wagon with it. The landlords is squeezing the life out of us, I tellye. "

She paused in her tirade to yell at her charges. Then she turned againto the story of her wrongs. 

"And of all the pest holes I ever seen, this is the plum worst. There'schills an' fever an' typhoid till you can't rest, an' them kids isabustin' with measles an' mumps an' scarlet fever. That I ain't got 'emall myself's a miracle. "

"You ought to have a district nurse and inspector/' said Geneviève, amused, in spite of her indignation, at the dark picture presented. 

"Distric' nothin', " the other sneered. "There ain't nothin' here butrent an' taxes--doggone if I don't quit. There's plenty to do this heremindin' work, an' I bet I could make more at the factory. They're payin'grand for overtime. "

Geneviève looked at the thin shoulders and narrow chest of the girl, noted her growing pallor and wondered how long such a physique couldwithstand the strain of hard work and overtime. She sighed. Something ofher thoughts must have shown in her face, for the girl reddened andher lips tightened. Without another word she slammed the door in hervisitor's face. 

Mrs. Brewster-Smith cackled thin laughter. 

"That's what you get for interfering, " she jeered, so angry with herhostess for this forced inspection of her source of income that shewas ready to sacrifice the comforts of her extended visit to have thesatisfaction of airing her resentment. 

"Poor soul!" said Geneviève. "Thirty a month!" Her eyes ran over therows of crowded shacks. "The owners must get together and do somethinghere, " she said. "These conditions are simply vile. "

"It's probably all these people are used to, " Alys snapped, "And, besides, if they went further into town it'd cost them the trolley bothways, and all the time lost. It's the location they pay for. Mr. Alientold me not two months ago he thought rents could be raised. "

"If you all co-operate, " Genevieve continued her own line of thought, "you could at least clean the place and make it _safe_ to live in, evenif they haven't any comforts. "

Her face brightened. Around the corner came the strong, solid figure ofMiss Eliot; behind her trotted a bespectacled young man who carried apigskin envelope under his arm and whose expression was far from happy. 

"Hello!" called Miss Eliot. "So you did come. I'm glad of it. Let mepresent Mr. Glass to you. The department lent him to me for the day. Andwhat do you think of it, now that you can see it?"

"Glad to meet you, " said Genevieve, nodding to the health officer. "Whatdo I think of it? What does Mr. Glass think? That's more important. Oh, let me present you--this is Mrs. Brewster-Smith. "

Miss Eliot's face showed no surprise, though her eyes twinkled, but Mr. Glass was frankly taken aback. 

"Mrs. Brewster--Smith----Brewster--Smith, " he stammered. "Oh--er--" hegripped his pigskin folio as if about to search its contents to verifythe name. "The--er--the owner?" he inquired. 

Alys stiffened. "My dear husband left me this property. I have neverbefore seen it. "

"I'm very glad, " beamed Mr. Glass, "to see that we shall haveyour co-operation in our efforts to do something definite for thissection--and measures must be taken quickly. As you see, there is nosanitation, no trenching, no mosquito-extermination plant. Malaria andtyphoid are prevalent; it's all very bad, very bad, indeed. And you'dhardly believe, Mrs. Brewster-Smith, what difficulties we are havingwith the owners as a class. The five biggest have formed an association. I suppose you've heard about it. They must have made an effort tointerest you "--he stopped short, remembering that her name appeared onthe lists of the "Protective League. "

"Really"--Alys had recovered her hauteur and the aloofness becoming thesituation--"I know nothing whatever about what measures my agents havethought it advisable to take. "

Mr. Glass choked and glanced uneasily at Miss Eliot. 

That lady grinned, almost the grin of a gamin. "You needn't look at_me_, Mr. Glass. I don't represent Mrs. Brewster-Smith. "

"Oh, I know, I know, " Mr. Glass hastened to exonerate his companion. 

"I believe Miss Eliot declined the honor, " Genevieve's voice was heard. 

"I did, " the agent affirmed. She laughed shortly. "Otherwise you wouldhardly find me here in my present capacity. One does not 'run with thehare and hunt with the hounds, ' you know. "

Alys lost her temper. It seemed to her she was ruthlessly being forcedto shoulder responsibilities she had been taught to shirk as a sacredfeminine right. Therefore, feeling injured, she voiced her innocence. 

"Your husband, my dear Geneviève, has been good enough to administer mylittle estate. Whatever he has done, or now plans to do, meets with _my_entire approval. "

The thrust went home in more directions than one. Miss Eliot turnedher frank gaze upon the speaker, while she slowly nodded her head asif studying a perfect specimen of a noxious species. Mr. Glass gasped. There was political material in the statement. He looked anxiously atthe wife of the gentleman implicated, but in her was no fear and nomanner of trembling. Instead, the light of battle shone in her eyes. 

"My dear Alys, " she said, "my husband has told you that he is too busy aman to give your affairs his personal attention. He can only advise youand turn the executive side over to another. His experience does notextend to the stock market or to real estate. It is an imposition tothrow your burdens upon him. If you derive benefits from ownership, youmust educate yourself to accept your duty to society. "

"Indeed!" flared Alys, furious at this public arraignment. "May I askif you intend to continue this insulting attitude?" "If you mean, do Iexpect hereafter to be a live woman and not a parasite--I do. "

Mrs. Brewster-Smith turned on her heel and walked away, teetering overthe ruts and holes of the path. 

Genevieve looked distressed. "I'm sorry, " she breathed, "I'm ashamed, but it _had_ to come out. I--I couldn't stand it any longer. I--begeverybody's pardon. I'm sure, it was awfully bad manners of me. Oh, dear--" she faltered, half turned, and, with a gesture of appeal towardMrs. Brewster-Smith's slowly retreating back, moved as if to follow. 

"I wouldn't go after her, " said E. Eliot. "Of course, you haven't hadexperience. You don't know how much self-restraint you've got to buildup, but you're here now, and I'm sure Mr. Glass understands. _He's_got to come up against all sorts of exasperations on _his_ job, too. Hewon't take any stock in Mrs. Brewster-Smith's trying to tie your husbandup to these wretched conditions. 

"He's looking forward to seeing an honest, public-spirited districtattorney get into office--even if your husband doesn't yet see thatwomen have anything to say about it. They may heckle him in orderto force him to come out on his intentions about the graft, and theeight-hour day, and the enforcement of the law, but they don't doubt hishonesty. When he know's what's what, I guess the public can trust him todo the right thing. Only he's got to be shown. "

As she talked, giving Geneviève time to recover from her upheaval, thethree investigators were plowing their way up and down byways equallydepressing and insanitary. Silence ensued. Occasionally an expression ofcommiseration or condemnation escaped one or another of the party. 

Suddenly a raucous whistle tore the air, followed by another andanother, declaring the armistice of the noon hour. Iron gates in thesurrounding wall were opened, a stream of men and women poured out, grimed, sweat-streaked and voluble. The two women and their escortpaused and watched the oncoming swarm of humanity. 

Around the corner, just ahead, strode a giant of a man, followed by ared-faced, unkempt, familiar figure--the man in charge of the rentingoffice. The giant came forward threateningly. 

"What youse doing?" he growled. He jerked his jersey, displaying a brassbadge, P. A. Guard. 

"Git outer here--git, " he called. 

Mr. Glass stepped forward, displaying his Health Department permit. Thegiant laughed. 

"Say, sonny, " he sneered, "that don't go--see. Them tin fakes don't gitby. If you're one of them guys, you come here wit' McLaughlin, and yousecan rubber. But we've had enough of this stuff. Them dames is no blind, neither. I'm guard for the owners here, and we ain't takin' no chanceswit' trouble makers--git. Git a move on!"

"The department, " spluttered Glass, "shall hear of this. "

"That's all right. McLaughlin's the boss. Tell 'em not to send a kid todo a man's job. "

Geneviève was too amazed to protest. It was her first experience ofdefiance of Law and Order by Law and Order. 

Meanwhile, the first stragglers of the released army of toilers werenearly upon them. The giant observed their approach, and the look ofmenace deepened on his huge, congested face. 

"Move on, now--move on, " he snarled, and herded them forward in advanceof the workers. 

Sheepishly the three obeyed, but Miss Eliot was not silent. 

"Your name?" she demanded in judicial command. 

The very terseness of her question seemed to jerk an unwilling answerfrom the guard. 

"Michael Mehan. "

"And you're employed by the Owners' Protective League?"

"Sure. "

"Have they given you orders to keep strangers out of the district?"

"I have me orders, and I know what they be. I'm duly sworn in as extraguard--and I'm not the only one, neither. "

"Did _he_ come after you?" Miss Eliot indicated the ruffian at his side. 

"I seen the lady owner blew the bunch, " that worthy remarked with ahoarse chuckle. "I wised Mike, all right. Whatcha goin' to do about it?"

"Mrs. Brewster-Smith, the owner, " Miss Eliot observed, "didn't seem toknow that she had employed you. How about that?"

"I'm put here by the O. P. L. That's good enough fer yer ladyowner--now--ain't it? The things them nosey dames thinks they can git bywit'!" he observed to the guard, and swore an oath that made Mr. Glassturn to him with unexpected fury. 

"You may pretend to think that I'm not what I represent myself to be, but let me tell you, McLaughlin is going to hear of this. One moreinsult to these ladies and I'll make it my business to go personally toyour employers. Get me?"

"Shut your trap, Jim, " snarled Mehan. "Yer ain't got no orders fer nofancy language. " He leered at Geneviève. "Now we've shooed the chickensout, we're tru'. " With a wave of his huge paw he indicated the highwaythe turn of the path revealed. 

Geneviève looked to the right, where the car should be waiting her. Itwas gone. Evidently the indignant Mrs. Brewster-Smith had expedited thedeparture. Miss Eliot read her discomfiture. 

"My car is right down here behind that palatial mansion with the holein the roof and the tin-can extension. Thank you very much for yourescort, " she added, turning to the two representatives of the ProtectiveLeague. "My name, by the way, is E. Eliot. I am a real-estate agent andmy office is at 22 Braston Street. You might mention it in your report. "

The little car stood waiting, surrounded by a group of admiringchildren. Its owner stepped in briskly, backed around and received herpassengers. 

"Well, " she smiled as they drew out on the traveled highway, "how do youlike the purlieus of our noble little city?"

Genevieve was silent. Then she spoke with conviction. 

"When George is in power--and he's _got_ to be--the Law will be the Law. I know him. "

CHAPTER XI. BY MARJORIE BENTON COOK

George Remington walked toward headquarters with more assurance thanhe felt. He resented Doolittle's command that he appear at once. He wasbeginning to realize the pressure which these campaign managers werebringing to bear upon him. He was not sure yet how far he could go, inout-and-out defiance of them and their dictates. 

He knew that he had absolutely no ambitions, no interests in common withthese schemers, whose sole idea lay in party patronage, in manipulatingevery political opportunity--in short, in reaping where they had sown. The question now confronting him was this: was he prepared to sell hispolitical birthright for the mess of pottage they offered him?

He stood a second at the door of the office, peering through thereeking, smoke-filled atmosphere, to get a bird's-eye view of thesituation before he entered. 

Mr. Doolittle sat on the edge of a table monologuing to Wes' Norton andPat Noonan. Mr. 

Norton was the president of the Whitewater Commercial Club, composed ofthe leading merchants of the town, and Mr. Noonan was the apostle of theliquor interests. Remington felt his back stiffen as he stepped amongthem. 

"Good-evening, gentlemen, " he said briskly. 

"H'are ye, George?" drawled Doolittle. 

"There was something you wanted to discuss with me?"

"I dunno as there's anything to discuss, but there's a few things Wes'an' Pat an' me'd like to say to ye. There ain't no two ways of thinkin'about the prosperity of Whitewater, ye know, George. The merchantsin this town is satisfied with the way things is boomin'. Thefactory workers is gittin' theirs, with high wages an' overtime. Thestockholders is makin' no kick on the dividends--as ye know, George, being one of them. 

"Now, we don't want nuthin' to disturb all this If the fact'ries iscrackin' the law a bit, why, it ain't the first time such things hasgot by the inspector. The fact'ry managers'd like some assurance from yethat ye're goin' to keep yer hands off before they line up the fact'ryhands to vote for ye. "

Doolittle paused here. George nodded. 

"When are ye comin' out with a plain statement of yer intentions, George?" inquired Mr. Norton in a conciliatory tone. 

"The voters in this town will get a clear statement of my stand on allthe issues of this campaign in plenty of time, gentlemen. "

"That's all right fer the voter, but ye can't stall _us_ wit' that kindof talk--" began Noonan. 

"Wait a minute, Pat, " counseled Doolittle. "George means all right. He'snew to this game, but he means to stand fer the intrusts of his party, don't ye, George?"

"I should scarcely be the candidate of that party if I did not. "

"I ain't interested in no oratory. Are ye or are ye not goin' to keepyer hands off the prosperity of Whitewater?" demanded Noonan angrily. 

"Look here, Noonan, I am the candidate for this office--you're not. Iintend to do as my conscience dictates. I will not be hampered at everyturn, nor told what to say and what to think. I must get to these thingsin my own way. "

"Don't ye fergit that ye're _our_ candidate, that ye are to express theopinion of the people who will elect ye, and not any dam' theories ofyer own----"

"I think I get your meaning, Noonan. "

George spoke with a smile which for some reason disconcerted Noonan. Hesensed with considerable irritation the social and class breach betweenhimself and Remington, and while he did not understand it he resentedit. He called him "slick" to Wes' and Doolittle and loudly bewailedtheir choice of him as candidate. 

"Then there's that P. L. Bizness, Pat--don't fergit that, " urged Wes'. 

"I ain't fergittin' it. There's too much nosin' round Kentwood districtby the women, George. Too much talkin'. Ye'd better call that off rightnow. Property owners down there is satisfied, an' they got _their_rights, ye know. " "I suppose you know what the conditions down thereare?"

"Sure we know, George, and we want to clean it up down there just asmuch as you do, " said the pacific Doolittle; "but what we're sayin' is, this ain't the time to do it. Later, mebbe, when the conditions is jestright----"

"Somebody has got the women stirred up fer fair. It's up to you to call'em off, George, " said Mr. Norton. 

"How can I call them off?"--tartly. 

"Ye can put the brakes on Mrs. Remington and that there Sheridan girl, can't ye?"

"Miss Sheridan is no longer in my employ. As for Mrs. Remington, ifshe is not one in spirit with me, I cannot force her to be. Every humanbeing has a right to----"

"Some change sence ye last expressed yerself, George. Seems like Irecall ye sayin', 'I'll settle that!'" remarked Doolittle coldly. 

"We will leave my wife's name out of the discussion, please, " saidGeorge with tardy but noble loyalty. "Well, them two I mentioned canstir up some trouble; but they ain't the brains of their gang, by along shot. It's this E. Eliot we gotta deal with. She's as smart, if notsmarter, than any man in this town. She's smarter than you, George--orme, either, " he added consolingly. 

"I've seen her about, but I've never talked to her. What sort of womanis she?"

"Quiet, sensible kind. Ye keep thinking, 'How reasonable that woman is, 'till ye wake up and find she's got ye hooked on one of the horns ofyer own damfoolishness! Slick as they make 'em and straight as astring--that's E. Eliot. "

"What do you want me to do about it?"--impatiently. 

"Are ye aimin' to answer them voiceless questions?" Pat inquired. 

Silence. 

"Plannin' to tear down Kentwood and enforce them factory laws?" demandedWes' Norton. 

Still no answer. 

"I'm jest callin' yer attention to the fact that this election isgittin' nearer every day. " "What am I to do with her? I can't afford toshow we're afraid of her. "

"Huh. "

"I can't bribe her to stop. "

"I'd like to see the fella that would try to bribe E. Eliot, " Doolittlechuckled. "Wouldn't be enough of him left to put in a teacup. "

"Then we've got to ignore her. "

"_We_ can ignore her, all right, George; but the women an' some of thevoters ain't ignoring her. It's my idea she's got a last card up hersleeve to play the day before we go to the polls that'll fix us. "

"Have you any plan in your mind?"

Doolittle scratched his head, wrestling with thought. 

"We was thinking that if she could be called away suddenly, and detainedtill after election--" he began meaningly. 

"You mean----"

"Something like that. "

"I won't have it, not if I lose the election. I won't stoop tokidnapping a woman like a highwayman. What do you take me for, Doolittle?" "Georgie, politics ain't no kid-glove bizness. It ain'twhat _you_ want; you're jest a small part of this affair. You're _our_candidate, and we _got_ to win this here election. Do you get me?"

He shot out his underjaw, and there was no sign of his usual good humor. 

"Well, but----"

"You don't have to know anything about this. We'll handle it. You'll bepertected to the limit; don't you worry, " sneered Noonan. 

"But you can't get away with this old-fashioned stuff nowadays, Doolittle, " protested Remington. 

"Can't we? You jest leave it to your Uncle Benjamin. You don't knownothing about this. See?"

"I know it's a dirty, low, underhanded----"

"George, " remarked Mr. Doolittle, slowly hoisting his big body on to itsshort legs, "in politics we don't call a spade a spade. We call it 'aagricultural implument. '"

With this sage remark Mr. Doolittle took his departure, followed by theother prominent citizens. 

George sat where they left him, head in hands, for several moments. Thenhe sprang up and rushed to the door to call them back. 

He would not stand it--he would not win at that price. He had concededeverything they had demanded of him up to this point, but here he drewthe line. Ever since that one independent fling of his about suffragethey had treated him like a naughty child. What did they think he was--arubber doll? He would telephone Doolittle that he would rather give uphis candidacy. Here he paused. 

Suppose he did withdraw, nobody would understand. The town would thinkthe women had frightened him off. He couldn't come out now and denouncethe machine methods of his party. Every eye in Whitewater was focused onhim; his friends were working for him; the district attorneyship was thenext step in his career; Geneviève expected him to win--no, he must gothrough with it! But after he got into office, then he would show them!He would take orders from no one. He sat down again and moodily surveyedthe future. 

In the days which followed, another mental struggle was taking placein the Remington family. Poor Genevieve was like a woman struck bylightning. She felt that her whole structure of life had crashed abouther ears. In one blinding flash she had seen and condemned Georgebecause he considered political expediency. She realized that she mustthink for herself now and not rely on him for the family celebration. She had conceived her whole duty in life to consist in being George'swife; but now, by a series of accidents, she had become aware of thegreat social responsibilities, the larger human issues, which men andwomen must meet together. 

Betty and E. Eliot had pointed out to her that she knew nothing of theconditions in her own town. They assured her that it was as much herduty to know about such things as to know the condition of her own backyard. 

Then came the awful revelations of Kentwood--human beings huddledlike rats; children swarming, dirty and hungry! She could not bear toremember the scenes she had witnessed in Kentwood. 

She recalled the shock of Alys Brewster-Smith's indifference to all thatmisery! The widow's one instinct had seemed to be to fight E. Eliot andthe health officer for their interference. Stranger still, the tenantsdid not want to be moved out, driven on. The whole situation wasconfused, but in it at least one thing stood out clearly: Genevièverealized, during the sleepless night after her visit to Kentwood, thatshe hated Cousin Alys!

The following Sunday, when she put on her coat, she found a souvenirof that visit in her pocket, a soiled reminder of poverty and toil. Sheremembered picking it up and noting that it was the factory pass ofone Marya Slavonsky. She had intended to leave it with some one in thedistrict, but evidently in the excitement of her enforced exit she hadthrust it into her pocket. 

This Marya worked in the factories. She was one of that grimy armyGeneviève had seen coming out of the factory gate, and she went home tothat pen which Cousin Alys provided. Marya was a girl of Genevieve'sown age, perhaps, while she, Geneviève, had this comfortable home, andGeorge! She had been blind, selfish, but she would make up for it, she_would_! She would make a study of the needs of such people; she wouldgo among them like St. Agatha, scattering alms and wisdom. George mighthave his work; she had found hers! She would begin with the factorygirls. She would waken them to what had so lately dawned on her. Howcould she manage it? The rules of admission in the munition factorieswere very strict. 

Then again her eye fell upon the soiled card and a great idea was bornin her brain. Dressed as a factory girl, she would use Marya's card toget her into the circle of these new-found sisters. She would see howand where they worked. She would report it all to the Forum and toGeorge. She could be of use to George at last. 

She remembered Betty's statement that at midnight in the factories thewomen and girls had an hour off. That was the time she chose, with truedramatic instinct. 

She rummaged in the attic for an hour, getting her costume ready. Shedecided on an old black suit and a shawl which had belonged to hermother. She carried these garments to her bedroom and hid them there. Then, with Machiavellian finesse, she laid her plans. 

She would slip out of bed at half-past eleven o'clock, taking care notto waken George, and she would dress and leave the house by the sidedoor. By walking fast she could reach by midnight the factory to whichshe had admission. 

It annoyed her considerably to have George announce at luncheon that hehad a political dinner on for the evening and probably would not be homebefore midnight. He grumbled a little over the dinner. "The campaign, "he said, "really ended yesterday. But Doolittle thought it was wise tohave a last round-up of the business men, and give them a final speech. "

Geneviève acquiesced with a sympathetic murmur, but she wasdisappointed. Merely to walk calmly out of the house at eleven o'clocklessened the excitement. However, she decided upon leaving George a noteexplaining that she had gone to spend the night with Betty Sheridan. 

She looked forward to the long afternoon with impatience. Cousin Emelenewas taking her nap. Mrs. Brewster-Smith left immediately after lunchto make a call on one of her few women friends. Genevieve tried to getBetty on the telephone, but she was not at home. 

It was with a thrill of pleasure that she saw E. Eliot coming up thewalk to the door. She hurried downstairs just as the maid explained thatMrs. Brewster-Smith was not at home. 

"Oh, won't you come in and see me for a moment, Miss Eliot?" Genevievebegged. "I do so want to talk to you. "

E. Eliot hesitated. "The truth is, I am fearfully busy today, even though it's Sunday. I wanted to get five minutes with Mrs. Brewster-Smith about those cottages--" she began. 

Genevieve laid a detaining hand on her arm and led her into theliving-room. 

"She's hopeless! I can hardly bear to have her in my house after the wayshe acted about those fearful places. "

"Well, all that district is the limit, of course. She isn't the onlylandlord. "

"But she didn't _see_ those people. " "She's human, I guess--didn't wantto see disturbing things. "

"I would have torn down those cottages with my own hands!" burst forthGeneviève. 

E. Eliot stared. "No one likes her income cut down, you know, " shepalliated. 

"Income! What is that to human decencies?" cried the newly awakenedapostle. 

"Your husband doesn't entirely agree with you in some of these matters, I suppose. "

"Oh, yes he does, in his heart! But there's something about politicsthat won't let you come right out and say what you think. "

"Not after you've come right out once and said the wrong thing, " laughedE. Eliot. "I'm afraid you will have to use your indirect influence onhim, Mrs. Remington. "

Geneviève threw her cards on the table. 

"Miss Eliot, I am just beginning to see how much there is for women todo in the world. I want to do something big--the sort of thing youand Betty Sheridan are doing--to rouse women. What can I do?" E. Eliotscrutinized the ardent young face with amiable amusement. 

"You can't very well help us just now without hurting your husband'schances and embarrassing him in the bargain. You see, we're trying toembarrass him. We want him to kick over the traces and tell what he'sgoing to do as district attorney of this town. "

"But can't I do something that won't interfere with George? Couldn't Iinvestigate the factories, or organize the working girls?"

"My child, have you ever organized anything?" exclaimed E. Eliot. 

"No. "

"Well, don't begin on the noble working girl. She doesn't organizeeasily. Wait until the election is over. Then you come in on our schemesand we'll teach you how to do things. But don't butt in now, I beg ofyou. Misguided, well-meaning enthusiasts like you can do more harm toour cause than all the anti-suffragists in this world!"

With her genial, disarming smile, E. Eliot rose and departed. Shechuckled all the way back to her rooms over the idea of Remington'sbride wanting to take the field with the enemies of her wedded lord. 

"Women, women! God bless us, but we're funny!" mused E. Eliot. 

Genevieve liked her caller immensely, and she thought over her advice, but she determined to let it make no difference in her plans. 

She saw her work cut out for her. She would not flinch!

She would do her bit in the great cause of women--no, of humanity. Theflame of her purpose burned steadily and high. 

At a quarter-past eleven that night a slight, black-clad figure, with ashawl over its head, softly closed the side door of the Remington houseand hurried down the street. Never before had Genevieve been alone onthe streets after dark. She had not foreseen how frightened she would beat the long, dark stretches, nor how much more frightened when any onepassed her. Two men spoke to her. She sped on, turning now this way, nowthat, without regard to direction--her eyes over her shoulder, in terrorlest she be followed. 

So it was that she plunged around a corner and into the very arms of E. Eliot, who was sauntering home from a political meeting, where she hadbeen a much-advertised speaker. She was in the habit of prowling aboutby herself. Tonight she was, as usual, unattended--unless one observedtwo burly workingmen who walked slowly in her wake. 

"Oh, I beg your pardon, " came a gently modulated voice from behind theshawl. E. Eliot stared. 

"No harm done here. Did I hurt you?" she replied. 

She thought she heard an involuntary "Oh!" from beneath the shawl. 

"No, thanks. Could you tell me how to get to the Whitewater Arms andMunitions Factory? I'm all turned around. "

"Certainly. Two blocks that way to the State Road, and half a mile northon that. Shall I walk to the road with you?"

"Oh, no, thank you, " the girl answered and hurried on. E. Eliot stoodand watched her. Where had she heard that voice? She knew a good manygirls who worked at the factories, but none of them spoke like that. All at once a memory came to her: "Couldn't I investigate something, ororganize the working girls?" Mrs. George Remington!

"The little fool, " ejaculated the other woman, and turned promptly tofollow the flying figure. 

The two burly gentlemen in the rear also turned and followed, but E. Eliot was too busy planning how to manage Mrs. Remington to notice them. She had to walk rapidly to keep her quarry in sight. As she camewithin some thirty yards of the gate she saw Genevieve challenge thegatekeeper, present her card and slip inside, the gate clanging tobehind her. 

E. Eliot broke into a jog trot, rounded the corner of the wall, pulledherself up quickly, using the stones of the wall as footholds. She hungfrom the top and let herself drop softly inside, standing perfectlystill in the shadow. At the same moment the two burly gentlemen ranround the corner and saw nothing. "I told ye to run--" began one of themfiercely. 

"Aw, shut up. If she went over here, she'll come out here. We'll wait. "

The midnight gong and the noise of the women shuffling out into thecourtyard drowned that conversation for E. Eliot. She stood and watchedthe gatekeeper saunter indoors, not waiting for the man who relieved himon duty. She watched Genevieve go forward and meet the factory hands. 

The newcomer shyly spoke to the first group. The eavesdropper could nothear what she said. But the crowd gathered about the speaker, shuffling, chaffing, finally listening. Somebody captured the gatekeeper's stooland Geneviève stood on it. 

"What I want to tell you is how beautiful it is for women to standtogether and work together to make the world better, " she began. 

"Say, what is your job?" demanded a girl, suspicious of the soft voiceand modulated speech. 

"Well, I--I only keep house now. But I intend to begin to do a greatdeal for the community, for all of you----" "She keeps house--poorlittle overworked thing!"

"But the point is, not what you do, but the spirit you do it in----"

"What is this, a revival meetin'?"

"So I want to tell you what the women of this town mean to do. "

"Hear! Hear! Listen at the suffragette!"

"First, we mean to clean up the Kentwood district. You all know howawful those cottages are. "

"Sure; we live in 'em!"

"We intend to force the landlords to tear them down and improve all thatdistrict. "

"Much obliged, lady, and where do we go?" demanded one of her listeners. 

"You must have better living conditions. "

"But where? Rents in this town has boomed since the war began. Ain'tthat got to you yet? There ain't no place left fer the poor. "

"Then we must find places and make them healthy and beautiful. "

"For the love of Mike! She's talkin' about heaven, ain't she?" "She'stalkin' through her hat!" cried another. 

"Then, we mean to make the factories obey the laws. They have no rightto make you girls work here at night. "

"Who's makin' us?"

"We are going to force the factories to obey the letter of the law onour statute books. "

A thin, flushed girl stepped out of the crowd and faced her. 

"Say, who is 'we'?"

"Why, all of us, the women of Whitewater. "

"How are we goin' to repay the women of Whitewater fer tearin' down ourhomes an' takin' away our jobs? Ain't there somethin' we can do to showour gratitood?" the new speaker asked earnestly. 

"Go to it--let her have it, Mamie Flynn!" cried the crowd. 

"Oh, but you mustn't look at it that way! We must all make somesacrifices----"

"Cut that slush! What do you know about sacrifices? I'm on to you. You're one of them uptown reformers. What do you know about sacrifices?Ye got a sure place to sleep, ain't ye? Ye've got a full belly an' ahusband to give ye spendin' money, ain't ye? Don't ye come down heregittin' our jobs away an' then fergettin' all about us!"

There was a buzz of agreement and an undertone of anger which to anexperienced speaker would have been ominous. But Geneviève blundered on:"We only want to help you----"

"We don't want yer help ner yer advice. You keep yer hands off ourbusiness! Do yer preachin' uptown--that's where they need it. Ask thelandlords of Kentwood and the stockholders in the munition factories tomake some sacrifices, an' see where that gits ye! But don't ye come downhere, a-spyin' on us, ye dirty----"

The last words were happily lost as the crowd of girls closed in onGeneviève with cries of "Spy!" "Scab!" "Throw her out!"

They had nearly torn her clothes off before E. Eliot was among them. Shesprang up on the chair and shouted:

"Girls--here, hold on a minute. "

There was a hush. Some one called out: "It's Miss E. Eliot. " "Listen aminute. Don't waste your time getting mad at this girl. She's a friendof mine. And you may not believe me, but she means all right. "

"What's she pussyfootin' in here for?"

"Don't you know the story of the man from Pittsburgh who died and wenton?" cried E. Eliot. "Some kindly spirit showed him round the place, and the newcomer said: 'Well, I don't think heaven's got anything onPittsburgh. ' 'This isn't heaven!' said the spirit. "

There was a second's pause, and then the laugh came. 

"Now, this girl has just waked up to the fact that Whitewater isn'theaven, and she thought you'd like to hear the news! I'll take the poorlamb home, put cracked ice on her head and let her sleep it off. "

They laughed again. 

"Go to it, " said the erstwhile spokeswoman for the working girls. 

E. Eliot called them a cheery good-night. The factory girls driftedaway, in little groups, leaving Geneviève, bedraggled and hysterical, clinging to her rescuer. 

"They would have killed me if you hadn't come!" she gasped. 

E. Eliot thought quickly. 

"Stand here in the shadow of the fence till I come back, " she said. "Itwill be all right. I've got to run into the office and send a telephonemessage. I have a pal there who will let me do it. "

"You--you won't be long?"

It was clear that the nerve of Mrs. Remington was quite gone. 

"I won't be gone five minutes. "

E. Eliot was as good as her word. 

When she returned she seized the stool on which her companion had madeher maiden speech--ran to the wall, placed it at the spot where she hadmade her entrance and urged Geneviève to climb up and drop over; as sheobeyed, E. Eliot mounted beside her. They dropped off, almost at thesame moment--into arms upheld to catch them. 

Geneviève screamed, and was promptly choked. "What'll we do with thisextra one?" asked a hoarse voice. 

"Bring her. There's no time to waste now. If ye yell again, ye'll bothbe strangled, " the second speaker added as he led the way toward theroad, where the dimmed lights of a motor car shone. 

He was carrying E. Eliot as if she were a doll. Behind him his assistantstumbled along, bearing, less easily but no less firmly, the, wife ofthe candidate for district attorney!

CHAPTER XII. BY WILLIAM ALLEN WHITE

As the two gagged women--one comfortably gagged with more or lesspleasant bandages made and provided, the other gagged by the large, smelly hand of an entire stranger to Mrs. George Remington--whom she wastrying impolitely to bite, by way of introduction--were speeding throughthe night, Mr. George Remington, ending a long and late speech beforethe Whitewater Business Men's Club, was saying these things:

"I especially deplore this modern tendency to talk as though therewere two kinds of people in this country--those interested in goodgovernment, and those interested in bad government. We are all goodAmericans. We are all interested in good government. Some of us believegood government may be achieved through a protective tariff and a properconsideration for prosperity [cheers], and others, in their blindness, bow down to wood and stone!"

He smiled amiably at the laughter, and continued:

"But while some of us see things differently as to means, our aims areessentially the same. You don't divide people according to trades andcallings. I deplore this attempt to set the patriotic merchant againstthe patriotic saloonkeeper; the patriotic follower of the race trackagainst the patriotic manufacturer. 

"Here is my good friend, Benjie Doolittle. When he played the poniesin the old days, before he went into the undertaking and furniturebusiness, was he less patriotic than now? Was he less patriotic thenthan my Uncle Martin Jaffry is now, with all his manufacturer's interestin a stable government? And is my Uncle Martin Jaffry more patrioticthan Pat Noonan? Or is Pat less patriotic than our substantial merchant, Wesley Norton?

"Down with this talk that would make lines of moral and patrioticcleavage along lines of vocation or calling. I want no votes of thosewho pretend that the good Americans should vote in one box and the badAmericans in another box. I want the votes of those of all castes andcults who believe in prosperity [loud cheers], and I want the votesof those who believe in the glorious traditions of our party, itsmagnificent principles, its martyred heroes, its deathless name in ourhistory!"

It was, of course, an after-dinner speech. Being the last speech of thecampaign it was also a highly important one. But George Remington felt, as he sat listening to the din of the applause, that he had answeredrather neatly those who said he was wabbling on the local economic issueand was swaying in the wind of socialist agitation which the women hadstarted in Whitewater. 

As he left the hotel where the dinner had been given, he met his partneron the sidewalk. 

"Get in, Penny, " he urged, jumping into his car. "Come out to the housefor the night, and we'll have Betty over to breakfast. Then she andGeneviève and you and I will see if we can't restore the _ante-bellummodus vivendi_! Come on! Emelene and Alys always breakfast in bed, anyway, and it will be no trouble to get Betty over. " The two men rodehome in complacent silence. It was long past midnight. They sat on theveranda to finish their cigars before going into the house. 

"Penny, " asked George suddenly, "what has Pat Noonan got in this game--Imean against the agitation by the women and this investigation ofconditions in Kentwood? Why should he agonize over it?"

"Is he fussing about it?"

"Is he? Do you think I'd tie his name up in a public speech with MartinJaffry if Pat wasn't off the reservation? You could see him swellup like a pizened pup when I did it! I hope Uncle Martin will not beoffended. "

"He's a good sport, George. But say--what did Pat do to give you thishunch?"

Remington smoked in meditative silence, then answered:

"Well, Penny, I had to raise the devil of a row the other day to keepPat from ribbing up Benjie Doolittle and the organization to a frame-upto kidnap this Eliot person. "

"Kidnap E. Eliot!" gasped the amazed Evans. "Kidnap that very pest. AndI tell you, man, if I hadn't roared like a stuck ox they would have doneit! Fancy introducing 'Prisoner of Zenda' stuff into the campaign inWhitewater! Though I will say this, Penny, as between old army friendsand college chums, " continued Mr. Remington earnestly, "if a warriorbold with spurs of gold, who was slightly near-sighted and notparticular about his love being so damned young and fair, would swoopdown and carry this E. Eliot off to his princely donjon, and would letdown the portcullis for two days, until the election is over, it wouldhelp some! Though otherwise I don't wish her any bad luck!"

The old army friend and college chum laughed. 

"Well, that's your end of the story! I'm mighty glad you stopped it. Here's my end. You remember two-fingered Moll, who was our first client?The one who insisted on being referred to as a lady? The one who gotconverted and quit the game and who thought she was being pursued by theracetrack gang because she was trying to live decent?"

George smiled in remembrance. "Well, she called me up to know if therewas any penalty for renting a house to Mike the Goat and his wife andold Salubrious the Armenian, who had a lady friend they were keepingfrom the cops against her will. She said they weren't going to hurt thelady, and I could see her every day to prove it. I advised her to keepout of it, of course; but she was strong for it, because of what shecalled the big money. I explained carefully that if anything shouldhappen, her past reputation would go against her. But she kept saying itwas straight, until I absolutely forbade her to do it, and she promisednot to. "

"Mike and his woman, and Old Salubrious!" echoed Remington. "And E. Eliot locked up with them for two days!"

He shivered, partly at the memory of his own mealy-mouthed protest. 

"Well, " he said, and there was an air of finality in his tone, "I'm gladI stopped the whole infamous business. "

Mentally he decided to get Noonan on the telephone the first thing inthe morning and make certain that the plan was abandoned. He continuedhis chat with Evans. 

"But, Penny, why this agonizing of Noonan? What has he to lose by thebetter conditions in Kentwood? Why should he----"

Outside of a neat white dwelling in the suburbs of Whitewater, fourfigures were struggling in the night toward a vine-covered door--thatdoor which appeared so attractively in the _Welfare Bulletin_ of theToledo Blade Steel Company's publicity program as the "prize garden homeof J. Agricola, roller. "

A woman stood in the doorway, holding the door open. Two women, who hadbeen carried by two men, from an automobile at the gate, were forcedthrough. There the men left them with their hostess. 

"I was only looking for one of yez, " she said, hospitably, "but you'rebote welcome. Now, ladies, I'm goin' to make you comfortable. It won'tdo no good to scream, so I'm goin' to take your gags off. And I hopeyou, lady, haven't been inconvenienced by a handkerchief. We could justas well have arranged for your comfort, too. "

"Madam, " gasped E. Eliot, who was the first to be released to speech, "it is unimportant who I am. But do you know that this woman with meis Mrs. George Remington, the wife of the candidate for districtattorney--Mr. George Remington of Whitewater? There has been a mistake. "

The hostess looked at Genevieve, who nodded a tearful confirmation. Butthe woman only smiled. 

"My man don't make mistakes, " she said laconically. "And, what's more tothe point, miss, he's a friend of George Remington, and why should hebe giving his lady a vacation? You are E. Eliot, and your friends thinkyou're workin' too hard, so they're goin' to give you a nice rest. Nothin' will happen to you if you are a lady, as I think you are. Andwhen I find out who this other lady is, we'll make her as welcome asyou!"

She went out of the room, locking the door behind her as the two womenstruggled vainly with their bonds. In an instant she returned. 

"My man says to tell the one who thinks she's Mrs. George Remington thatshe's spendin' the week-end with Mrs. Napoleon Boneypart. " My mansays he's a good friend of George Remington and is supportin' him fordistrict attorney, and that's how he can make it so pleasant here. 

"And I'll tell you something else, " she continued proudly. "When Georgegot married, it was my man that went up and down Smoky Row and seenall the girls and got 'em to give a dollar apiece for them lovely roseslabeled 'The Young Men's Republican Club. ' Mr. Doolittle he seen tothat. My man really collected fifty dollars more'n he turned in, and Igot a diamond-set wrist watch with it! So, you see, we're real friendlywith them Remingtons, and we're glad to see you, Mrs. Remington!"

"Oh, how horrible!" cried Geneviève. "There were eight dozen of thoseroses from the Young Men's Republican Club, and to think---Oh, tothink----"

"Well, now, George, " cried Mr. Penfield Evans, "just stop and think. Useyour bean, my boy! What is the one thing on earth that puts the fear ofGod into Pat Noonan? It's prohibition. Look at the prohibition map outWest and at the suffrage map out West. They fit each other like thepaper on the wall. Whatever women may lack in intelligence about somethings, there is one thing woman knows--high and low, rich and poor!She knows that the saloon is her enemy, and she hits it; and Pat Noonan, seeing this rise of women investigating industry, makes common causewith Martin Jaffry and the whole employing class of Whitewater againstthe nosey interference of women. 

"And Pat Noonan is depending on you, " continued Evans. "He expects youto rise. He expects you to go to Congress--possibly to the Senate, andhe figures that he wants to be dead sure you'll not get to truckling todecency on the liquor question. So he ties you up--or tries you out fora tie-up or a kidnapping; and Benjie Doolittle, who likes a sportingevent, takes a chance that you'll stand hitched in a plan to rid thecommunity of a political pest without seriously hurting the pest--afriendless old maid who won't be missed for a day or two, and whosedisappearance can be hushed up one way or another after she appears toolate for the election. 

"Just figure things out, George. Do you think Noonan got Mike the Goatto assess the girls on the row a dollar apiece for your flowers from theYoung Men's Republican Club, for his health! You had the grace to thankPat, but if you didn't know where they came from, " explained Mr. Evanscynically, "it was because you have forgotten where all Pat's floralofferings from the Y. M. R. C. Come from at weddings and funerals! And Patfeels that you're his kind of people. 

"Politics, George, is not the chocolate éclair that you might think it, if you didn't know it! Use your bean, my boy! Use your bean! And you'llsee why Pat Noonan lines up with the rugged captains of industry who arethe bulwarks of our American liberty. Pat uses his head for somethingmore than a hatrack. "

The two puffed for a time in silence. Finally the host said: "Well, let's turn in. " Three minutes later George called across the upper hallto Penfield. 

"The joke's on us, Penny. Here's a note saying that Geneviève is overwith Betty for the night. We'll call her up after breakfast and havethem both over to a surprise party. "

Penny strolled across to his friend's door. He was disappointed, and heshowed it. He found George sitting on the side of his bed. 

"Penny, " mused the Young Man in Politics, in his finest mood, "you knowI sometimes think that, perhaps, way down deep, there is something wrongwith our politics. I don't like to be hooked up with Noonan and hisgang. And I don't like the way Noonan and his gang are hooked up withWesley Norton and the silk stockings and Uncle Martin and the bigfellows. Why can't we get rid of the Noonan influence? They aren't afterthe things we're after! They only furnish the unthinking votes that makemajorities that elect the fellows the big crooks handle. Lord, man, it'sa dirty mess! And why women want to get into the dirty mess is more thanI can see. " "What a sweet valedictory address you are making for a youngladies' school!" scoffed Penny. "The hills are green far off! Aren't youthe Sweet Young Thing. But I'll tell you why the women want to get in, George. They think they want to clean up the mess. "

"But would they clean it? Wouldn't they vote about as we vote?"

"Well, " answered Mr. Evans with the cynicism of the judicial mind, "let's see. You know now, if you didn't know at the time, that Noonangot Mike the Goat to assess the disorderly houses for the money to buyyour wedding roses from the Y. M. R. C. All right. Noonan's bartender ison the ticket with you as assemblyman. Are you going to vote for him ornot?"

"But, Penny, I've just about got to vote for him. "

"All right, then. I'll tell Geneviève the truth about Noonan and theflowers, and I'll ask her if she would feel that she had to vote forNoonan's bartender!" retorted Mr. Evans. "Giving women the ballot willhelp at least that much. If the Noonans stay in politics, they'll get nohelp from the women when they vote!"

"But aren't we protecting the women?"

 * * * * *

"Anyway, Mrs. Remington, " said E. Eliot comfortably, "I'm glad ithappened just this way. Without you, they would hold me until after theelection on Tuesday. With you, about tomorrow at ten o'clock we shallbe released. E. Eliot alone they have made every provision for holding. They have started a scandal, I don't doubt, necessary to explain myabsence, and pulled the political wires to keep me from making a fussabout it afterward. They know their man in the district attorney'soffice, and----"

"Do you mean George Remington?" This from his wife, with flashing eyes. 

"I mean, " explained E. Eliot unabashed, "that for some reason they feelsafe with George Remington in the district attorney's office, or theywould not kidnap me to prevent his defeat! That is the cold-bloodedsituation. "

"This party, " E. Eliot smiled, "is given at the country home of Mikethe Goat, as nearly as I can figure it out. Mike is a right-hand manof Noonan. Noonan is a right-hand man of Benjie Doolittle and WesleyNorton, and they are all a part of the system that holds Martin Jaffry'sindustries under the amiable beneficence of our sacred protectivetariff! Hail, hail, the gang's all here--what do we care now, my dear?And because you are here and are part of the heaven-born combinationfor the public good, I am content to go through the rigors of one nightwithout a nightie for the sake of the cause!"

"But they don't know who I am!" protested Mrs. Remington. "And----"

"Exactly, and for that reason they don't know who you are not. Tomorrowthe whole town will be looking for you, and Noonan will hear who you areand where you are. Then! Say, girl--_say, girl, _ it _will_ be grist forour mill! Fancy the headlines all over the United States:

'GANG KIDNAPS CANDIDATE'S WIFE MYSTERY SHROUDS PLOT CANDIDATE REMINGTONIS SILENT. '"

"But he won't be silent, " protested the indignant Geneviève. 

"I tell you, he'll denounce it from the platform. He'll never let thisoutrage----"

"Well, my dear, " said the imperturbable E. Eliot, "when he denouncesthis plot he'll have to denounce Doolittle and Noonan, and probablyNorton, and maybe his Uncle Martin Jaffry. Somebody is paying big moneyfor this job! I said the headlines will declare:

'CANDIDATE REMINGTON is SILENT But Still Maintains That Women AreProtected from Rigors of Cruel World by Man's Chivalry. '"

"Oh, Miss Eliot, don't! How can you? Oh, I know George will not let thisoutrage----"

"Of course not, " hooted E. Eliot. "The sturdy oak will support theclinging vine! But while he is doing it he will be defeated. And if hedoesn't protest he will be defeated, for I shall talk!"

"George Remington will face defeat like a gentleman, Miss Eliot; have nofear of that. He will speak out, no matter what happens. " "And when hespeaks, when he tells the truth about this whole alliance betweenthe greedy, ruthless rich and the brutal, vicious dregs of thiscommunity--our cause is won!"

 * * * * *

The next morning George Remington reached from his bed for his telephoneand called up the Sheridan residence. Two minutes later Penfield Evansheard a shout. At his door stood the unclad and pallid candidate fordistrict attorney. 

"Penny, " he gasped, "Genevieve's not there! She has not been with Bettyall night. And Betty has gone out to find E. Eliot, who is missing fromher boarding-house!"

"Are you sure----"

"God--Penny--I thought I had stopped it!"

George was back in his room, flying into his clothes. The two men weretalking loudly. From down the hall a sleepy voice--unmistakably Mrs. Brewster-Smith's--was drawling:

"George--George--are you awake? I didn't hear you come in. DearGeneviève went over to stay all night with Cousin Betty, and the oddestthing happened. About midnight the telephone bell rang, and that odiousEliot person called you up!"

George was in the hall in an instant and before Mrs. Brewster-Smith'sdoor. 

"Well, well, for God's sake, what did she say!" he cried. 

"Oh, yes, I was coming to that. She said to send your chauffeur withthe car down to the--oh, I forget, some nasty factory or something, for Genevieve. She said Genevieve was down there talking to the factorygirls. Fancy that, George! So I just put up the receiver. I knewGenevieve was with Betty Sheridan and not with that odious person atall--it was some ruse to get your car and compromise you. Fancy dearGenevieve talking to the factory girls at midnight!"

Penfield Evans and George Remington, standing in the hall, listened tothese words with terror in their hearts. 

"Get Noonan first, " said George. "I'll talk to him. "

In five seconds Evans had Noonan's residence. Remington listened toPenny's voice. "Gone, " he was saying. "Gone where?" And then: "Why, hewas at the dinner last---What's Doolittle's number?" ("Noonan went toNew York on the midnight train, " he threw at George. ) A moment laterRemington heard his partner cry, "Doolittle's gone to New York? On themidnight train?"

"Try Norton, " snapped George. Soon he heard Penny exclaim. "Albany?"said Penny. "Mr. Norton is in Albany? Thank you!"

"Their alibis!" said Evans calmly, as he hung up the receiver and staredat his partner. 

"Well, it--it----Why, Penny, they've stolen Geneviève! That damnedMike and the Armenian! They've got Geneviève with that Eliot woman!God----Why, Penny, for God's sake, what----"

"Slowly, George--slowly. Let's move carefully. "

The voice of Penfield Evans was cool and steady, "First of all, we need not worry about any harm coming to Geneviève. Sheis with Miss Eliot, and that woman has more sense than a man. She may bedepended upon. Now, then, " Evans waved his partner to silence and wenton: "the next thing to consider is how much publicity we shall give thisepisode. " He paused. 

"It's not a matter of publicity; it's a matter of getting Genevièveimmediately. "

"An hour or so of publicity of the screaming, hysterical kind will nothelp us to find Geneviève. But when we do find her, our publicity willhave defeated you!"

The two men stared at each other. Remington said: "You mean I mustshield the organization!"

"If you are to be elected--yes!"

"Do you think Geneviève and Miss Eliot would consent to shield theorganization when we find them? Why, Penny, you're mad! We must call upthe chief of police! We must scour the country! I propose to go rightto the newspapers! The more people who know of this dastardly thing thesooner we shall recover the victims!"

"And the sooner Noonan, when he comes home tonight, will denounce you asan accessory before the fact, with Norton and Doolittle as corroboratingwitnesses for him! Oh, you're learning politics fast, George!"

The thought of what Genevieve would say when she knew, through Noonanand Doolittle, that he had heard of the plot to kidnap Miss Eliot, and within an hour had talked to his wife casually at luncheon withoutsaying anything about it, made George's heart stop. He realized that hewas learning something more than politics. He walked the floor of theroom. 

"Well, " he said at last, "let's call in Uncle Martin Jaffry. He----"

"Yes; he is probably paying for the job. He might know something! I'llget him. "

"Paying for the job! Do you think he knew of this plot?" cried George asEvans stood at the telephone. 

"Oh, no. He just knew, in a leer from Doolittle, that they hadextraordinary need for Eve thousand dollars or so in your behalf--thatthey had consulted you. And then Doolittle winked and Noonan cocked hishead rakishly, and Uncle Martin put--Hello, Mr. Jaffry. This is Penny. Dress and come down to the office quickly. We are in serious trouble. "

Twenty minutes later Uncle Martin was sitting with the two young men inthe office of Remington and Evans. When they explained the situation tohim his dry little face screwed up. 

"Well, at least Geneviève will be all right, " he muttered. "E. Eliotwill take care of her. But, boys--boys, " he squeezed his hands androcked in misery, "the devil of it is that I gave Doolittle the money ina check and then went and got another check from the Owners' ProtectiveAssociation and took the peak load off myself, and Doolittle was withme when I got the P. A. Check. We've simply got to protect him. And, ofcourse, what he knows, Noonan knows. We can't go tearing up Jack here, calling police and raising the town!"

George Remington rose. 

"Then I've got to let my wife lie in some dive with that unspeakableTurk and that Mike the Goat while you men dicker with the scoundrels whocommitted this crime!" he said. "My God, every minute is precious! Wemust act. Let me call the chief of police and the sheriff----"

"All dear friends of Noonan's, " Penny quietly reminded him. "Theyprobably have the same tip about what is on as you and Uncle Martinhave! Calm down, George! First, let me go out and learn when Noonan andDoolittle are coming home! When we know that, we can----"

"Penny, I can't wait. I must act now. I must denounce the whole damnableplot to the people of this country. I must not rest one second longer insilence as an accessory. I shall denounce----"

"Yes, George, you shall denounce, " exclaimed his partner. "But justwhom--yourself, that you did not warn Miss Eliot all day yesterday!"

"Yes, " cried Remington, "first of all, myself as a coward!"

"All right. Next, then, your Uncle Martin Jaffry, who was earnestlytrying to help you in the only way he knew how to help! Why, George, that would be----" "That would be the least I could do to let the peoplesee----"

"To let the people see that Mrs. Brewster-Smith and all your socialfriends in this town are associated with Mike the Goat and his gang----"

Before Evans could finish, his partner stopped him. 

"Yes, yes--the whole damned system of greed! The rich greed and the poorgreed--our criminal classes plotting to keep justice from the decentlaw-abiding people of the place, who are led like sheep to theslaughter. What did the owners pay that money for? Not for the dirty jobthat was turned--not primarily. But to elect me, because they thoughtI would not enforce the factory laws and the housing laws and wouldprotect them in their larceny! That money Uncle Martin collected was myprice--my price!"

He was standing before his friends, rigid and white in rage. Neither mananswered him. 

"And because the moral sense of the community was in the hearts andheads of the women of the community, " he went on, "those who areupholding the immoral compact between business and politics had toattack the womanhood of the town--and Genevieve's peril is my share inthe shame. By God, I'm through!"

CHAPTER XIII. BY MARY AUSTIN

Close on Young Remington's groan of utter disillusionment came a soundfrom the street, formless and clumsy, but brought to a sharp climax withthe crash of breaking glass. 

Even through the closed window which Penfield Evans hastily threw up, there was an obvious quality to the disturbance which revealed itscharacter even before they had grasped its import. 

The street was still full of morning shadows, with here and therea dancing glimmer on the cobbles of the still level sun, caught onswinging dinner pails as the loosely assorted crowd drifted toward shopand factory. 

In many of the windows half-drawn blinds marked where spruce windowtrimmers added last touches to masterpieces created overnight, butdirectly opposite nothing screened the offense of the Voiceless Speech, which continued to display its accusing questions to the passer-by. 

Clean through the plate-glass front a stone had crashed, leaving a heapof shining splinters, on either side of which a score of men and boysloosely clustered, while further down a ripple of disturbance markedwhere the thrower of the stone had just vanished into some recognizedport of safety. 

It was a clumsy crowd, half-hearted, moved chiefly by a cruel delightin destruction for its own sake, and giving voice at intervals tocoarse comment of which the wittiest penetrated through a streamof profanity, like one of those same splinters of glass, to theconsciousness of at least two of the three men who hung listening in thewindow above:

"To hell with the----suffragists!"

At the same moment another stone hurled through the break sent theVoiceless Speech toppling; it lay crumpled in a pathetic feminine sortof heap, subject to ribald laughter, but Penny Evans' involuntary cryof protest was cut off by his partner's hand on his shoulder. "They'reNoonan's men, Penny; it's a put-up job. "

George had marked some of the crowd at the meetings Noonan had arrangedfor him, and the last touch to the perfunctory character of thedisturbance was added by the leisurely stroll of the policeman turningin at the head of the street. Before he reached the crowd it hadredissolved into the rapidly filling thoroughfare. 

"It's no use, Penny. Our women have seen the light and beaten us to it;we've got to go with them or with Noonan and his--Mike the Goat!"

Recollection of his wife's plight cut him like a knife. "TheBrewster-Smith women have got to choose for themselves!" He felt aboutfor his hat like a man blind with purpose. 

The street sweeper was taking up the fragments of the shattered windowshalf an hour later, when Martin Jaffry found himself going ratheraimlessly along Main Street with a feeling that the bottom had recentlydropped out of things--a sensation which, if the truth must be told, was greatly augmented by the fact that he hadn't yet breakfasted. He hadremained behind the two younger men to get into communication with BettySheridan and ask her to stay close to the telephone in case Miss Eliotshould again attempt to get into touch with her. He lingered still, dreading to go into any of the places where he was known lest he shouldsomehow be led to commit himself embarrassingly on the subject of hisnephew's candidacy. 

His middle-aged jauntiness considerably awry, he moved slowly down theheedless street, subject to the most gloomy reflections. Like most men, Martin Jaffry had always been dimly aware that the fabric of society isheld together by a system of mutual weaknesses and condonings, but hehad always thought of himself and his own family as moving freely in theinterstices, peculiarly exempt, under Providence, from strain. Nowhere they were, in such a position that the first stumbling foot mighttighten them all into inextricable scandal. 

It is true that Penny, at the last moment, had prevailed on Georgeto put off the relief of his feelings by public repudiation of hispolitical connections, at least until after a conference with thepolice. And to George's fear that the newspapers would get the news fromthe police before he had had a chance to repudiate, he had counteredwith a suggestion, drawn from an item in the private history of thechief--known to him through his father's business--which he felt certainwould quicken the chief's sense of the propriety of keeping George'spredicament from the press. 

"My God!" said George in amazement, and Martin Jaffry had respondedfervently with "O Lord!"

Not because it shocked him to think that there might be indiscretionsknown to the lawyer of a chief of police which the chief might not wishknown to the world, but because, with the addition of this new coil tohis nephew's affairs, he was suddenly struck with the possibility ofstill other coils in any one of which the saving element of indiscretionmight be wanting. 

Suppose they should come upon one, just one impregnable honesty, onesoul whom the fear of exposure left unshaken. On such a possibilityrested the exemption of the Jaffry-Remingtons. It was the reference toE. Eliot in his instructions to Betty which had awakened in Jaffry'smind the disquieting reflection that just here might prove such animpregnability. They probably wouldn't be able to "do anything" with E. Eliot simply because she herself had never done anything she was afraidto go to the public about. To do him justice, it never occurred to himthat in the case of a lady it was easily possible to invent somethingwhich would be made to answer in place of an indiscretion. 

Probably that was Martin Jaffry's own impregnability--that he wouldn'thave lied about a lady to save himself. What he did conclude was thatit was just this unbending quality of women, this failure to provide thesaving weakness, which unfitted them for political life. 

He shuddered, seeing the whole fabric of politics fall in ruins aroundan electorate composed largely of E. Eliots, feeling himself strippedof everything that had so far distinguished him from the Noonans and theDoolittles. 

Out of his sudden need for reinstatement with himself, he raised in hismind the vision of woman as the men of Martin Jaffry's world conceivedher--a tender, enveloping medium in which male complacency, uncheckedby any breath of criticism, reaches its perfect flower--the flower whosefruit, eaten in secret and afar from the soil which nourishes it, isgraft, corruption and civic incompetence. 

Instinctively his need directed him toward the Remington place. 

Mrs. Brewster-Smith was glad to see him. Between George's hurrieddeparture and Jaffry's return several of the specters that haunt suchwomen's lives looked boldly in at the window. 

There was the specter of scandal, as it touched the Remingtons, touchingthat dearest purchase of femininity, social standing; there was thespecter of poverty, which threatened from the exposure of the source ofher income and the enforcement of the law; nearer and quite as poignant, was the specter of an ignominious retreat from the comfort of GeorgeRemington's house to her former lodging, which she was shrewd enough torealize would follow close on the return of her cousin's wife. 

All morning she had beaten off the invisible host with thatcourage--worthy of a better cause--with which women of her classconfront the assaults of reality; and the sight of Martin Jaffry comingup the broad front walk met her like a warm waft of security. She flungopen the door and met him with just that mixture of deference and reliefwhich the situation demanded. 

She was terribly anxious about poor Geneviève, of course, but notso anxious that she couldn't perceive how Genevieve's poor uncle hadsuffered. 

"What, no breakfast! Oh, you poor man! Come right out into thedining-room. "

Mrs. Brewster-Smith might have her limitations, but she was entirelyaware of the appeasing effect of an open fire and a spread clotheven when no meal is in sight; she was adept in the art of envelopingtenderness and the extent to which it may be augmented by the pleasingaroma of ham and eggs and the coffee which she made herself. And oh, those _poor_ women, what _disaster_ they were bringing on themselves bytheir prying into things that were better left to more competent minds, and what pain to _other_ minds! So _selfish_, but of course they didn'trealize. Really she hoped it would be a lesson to Geneviève. The deargirl was so changed that she didn't see how she was going to go onliving with her; though, of course, she would like to stand by dearGeorge--and a woman did so appreciate a home!

At this point the enveloping tenderness of Mrs. Brewster-Smithconcentrated in her fine eyes, just brushed the heart of her listeneras with a passing wing, hovered a moment, and dropped demurely to thetablecloth. 

In the meantime two sorely perplexed citizens were grappling with theproblem of the disappearance of two highly respectable women from theirhomes under circumstances calculated to give the greatest anxiety tofaithful "party" men. It hadn't needed Penny's professional acquaintancewith Chief Buckley to impress the need of secrecy on that official'ssoul. "Squeal" on Noonan or Mike the Goat? Not if he knew himself. Naturally Mr. Remington must have his wife, but at the same time it wasimportant to proceed regularly. 

"And the day before election, too!" mourned the chief. "Lord, what amess! But keep cool, Mr. Remington; this will come out all right!"

After half an hour of such ineptitudes, Penfield Evans found itnecessary to withdraw his partner from the vicinity of the police beforehis impatience reached the homicidal pitch. 

"Buckley's no such fool as he sounds, " Penny advised. "He probably has apretty good idea where the women are hidden, but you must give him timeto tip off Mike for a getaway. "

But the suggestion proved ill chosen, at least so far as it involved ahope of keeping George from the newspapers. Shocked to the core of hisyoung egotism as he had been, Remington was yet not so shocked thatthe need of expression was not stronger in him than any more distantconsideration. 

"Getaway!" he frothed. "Getaway! While a woman like my wife--" But thebare idea was too much for him. 

"They may get away, but they'll not get off--not a damned one ofthem--of _us_, " he corrected himself, and with face working the popularyoung candidate for district attorney set off almost on a run for theoffice of the Sentinel. 

Reflecting that if his friend was bent upon official suicide, there wasstill no reason for his being, a witness to it, Penny turned aside intoa telephone booth and called up Betty Sheridan. He heard her jump atthe sound of his voice, and the rising breath of relief running into hisname. 

"O-o-oh, Penny! Yes, about twenty minutes ago. Geneviève is with her. .. . Oh, yes, I'm sure. "

Her voice sounded strong and confident. 

"They're in a house about an hour from the factory, " she went on, "amongsome trees. I'm sure she said trees. We were cut off. No, I couldn't gether again. .. . Yes. .. It's a party line. In the Redfield district. Oh, Penny, do you think they'll do her any harm?"

It was, no doubt, the length of time it took to assure Miss Sheridan onthis point that prevented Evans from getting around to the _Sentinel_, whose editor was at that moment giving an excellent exhibition ofindecision between his obligation as a journalist and his rôle ofleading citizen in a town where he met his subscribers at dinner. 

It was good stuff--oh, it was good! What headlines!

PROMINENT SOCIETY WOMEN KIDNAPPED

CANDIDATE REMINGTON REPUDIATES PARTY!

It was good for a double evening edition. On the other hand, there wasNorton, one of his largest advertisers. There was also the rival cityof Hamilton, which was even now basely attempting to win away fromWhitewater a recently offered Carnegie library on the ground of itssuperior fitness. 

Finally there was the party. 

The _Sentinel_ had always been a sound party organ. But _what_ a scoop!And suppose it were possible to save the party at the expense ofits worst element? Suppose they raised the cry of reform and broughtRemington in on a full tide of public indignation?

Would Mike stand the gaff? If it were made worth his while. But whatabout Noonan and Doolittle? So the editorial mind shuttled to and froamid the confused outpourings of the amazed young candidate, while witheyes bright and considering as a rat's the editor followed Remington inhis pacings up and down the dusty, littered room. 

Completely occupied with his own reactions, George's repudiation swepton in an angry, rapid stream which, as it spent itself, began to giveplace to the benumbing consciousness of a divided hearing. 

Until this moment Remington had had a pleasant sense of the press asa fine instrument upon which he had played with increasing mastery, atrumpet upon which, as his mind filled with commendable purposes, he could blow a very pretty tune, --a noble tune with now and then agraceful flourish acceptable to the public ear. Now as he talked hebegan to be aware of flatness, of squeaking keys. .. . 

"Naturally, Mr. Remington, I'll have to take this up with the businessmanagement. .. " dry-lipped, the tune sputtered out. At this juncture theborn journalist awaked again in the editorial breast at the entrance ofPenfield Evans with his new item of Betty's interrupted message. 

Two women shut up in a mysterious house among the trees! Oh, hot stuff, indeed!

Under it George rallied, recovered a little of the candidate's manner. 

"Understand, " he insisted. "This goes in even if I have to pay for it atadvertising rates. "

A swift pencil raced across the paper as Remington's partner swept himoff again to the police. 

Betty's call had come a few minutes before ten. What had happened wasvery simple. 

The two women had been given breakfast, for which their hands had beenmomentarily freed. When the bonds had been tied again it had been easyfor E. Eliot to hold her hands in such a position that she was left, when their keeper withdrew, with a little freedom of movement. 

By backing up to the knob she had been able to open a door into anadjoining room, in which she had been able to make out a telephone on astand against the wall. 

This room also had locked windows and closed shutters, but her quick withad enabled her to make use of that telephone. 

Shouldering the receiver out of the hook, she had called Betty's number, and, with Geneviève stooping to listen at the dangling receiver, hadcalled out two or three broken sentences. 

Guarded as their voices had been, however, some one in the house hadbeen attracted by them, and the wire had been cut at some point outsidethe room. E. Eliot and Geneviève came to this conclusion after havinglost Betty and failed to raise any answer to their repeated calls. Somebody came and looked in at them through the half-open door, and, seeing them still bound, had gone away again with a short, contemptuouslaugh. 

"No matter, " said E. Eliot. "Betty heard us, and the central office willbe able to trace the call. "

It was because she could depend on Betty's intelligence, she went on tosay, that she had called her instead of the Remington house--for supposethat fool Brewster-Smith woman had come to the telephone!

She and Geneviève occupied themselves with their bonds, fumbling backto back for a while, until Geneviève had a brilliant idea. Kneeling, she bit at the cords which held Miss Eliot's wrists until they began togive. 

 * * * * *

What Betty had done intelligently was nothing to what she had donewithout meaning it. She had been unkind to Pudge. Young Sheridan was ina condition which, according to his own way of looking at it, demandedthe utmost kindness. 

Following a too free indulgence in _marrons glacés_ he had beenrelegated to a diet that reduced him to the extremity of desperation. 

Not only had he been forbidden to eat sweets, but while his soul stilllonged for its accustomed solace, his stomach refused it, and he wasunable to eat a box of candied fruit which he had with the greatestingenuity secured. 

And that was the occasion Betty took--herself full of nervous starts andmysterious recourse to the telephone behind locked doors--to remind himcruelly that he was getting flabby from staying too much in the houseand to recommend a long walk for his good. 

It was plain that she would stick at nothing to get her brother out ofthe way, and Pudge was cut to the heart. 

Oh, well, he would go for a walk, from which he would probably bebrought home a limp and helpless cripple. Come to think of it, if heonce got started to walk he was not sure he would ever turn back; hewould just walk on and on into a kinder environment than this. 

After all, it is impossible to walk in that fateful way in a crowdedcity thoroughfare. Besides, one passes so many confectioners with theirmingled temptation and disgust. Pudge rode on the trolley as far asthe city limits. Here there was softer ground underfoot and a hintof melancholy in the fields. A flock of crows going over gave theappropriate note. 

Off there to the left, set back from the road among dark, crowdingtrees, stood a mysterious house. Pudge always insisted that he hadknown it for mysterious at the first glance. It had a mansard roof andshutters of a sickly green, all closed; there was not a sign of lifeabout, but smoke issued from one of the chimneys. 

Here was an item potent to raise the sleuth that slumbers in every boy, even in such well-cushioned bosoms as Pudge Sheridan's. 

He paused in his walk, fell into an elaborately careless slouch, andtacked across the open country toward the back of the house. Here hediscovered a considerable yard fenced with high boards that had oncebeen painted the same sickly green as the shutters, and a great buckeyetree just outside, spreading its branches over the corner furthest fromthe house. 

Toward this post of observation he was drifting with that fineassumption of aimlessness which can be managed on occasion by almost anyboy, when he was arrested by a slight but unmistakable shaking of one ofthe shutters, as though some one from within were trying the fastenings. 

The shaking stopped after a moment, and then, one after another, theslats of the double leaves were seen to turn and close as though for asecret survey of the field. After a moment or two this performance wasrepeated at the next window on the left, and finally at a third. 

Here the shaking was resumed after the survey, and ended with theshutter opening with a snap and being caught back from within andheld cautiously on the crack. Pudge kicked clods in his path and waspretentiously occupied with a dead beetle which he had picked up. 

All at once something flickered across the ground at his feet, swung twoor three times, touched his shoe, traveled up the length of his trousersand rested on his breast. How that bosom leaped to the adventure!

He fished hurriedly in his pocket and brought up a small round mirror. It had still attached to its rim a bit of the ribbon by which it hadbeen fastened to his sister's shopping bag, from which, if the truthmust be told, he had surreptitiously detached it. 

Pretending to consult it, as though it were some sort of pocket oracle, Pudge flashed back, and presently had the satisfaction of seeing abright fleck of light travel across the shutter. Immediately there wasa responsive flicker from the window: one, two, three, he counted, andflashed back: one, two, three. 

Pudge's whole being was suffused with delicious thrills. He wished nowhe had obeyed that oft-experienced presentiment and learned the Morsecode; it was a thing no man destined for adventure should be without. This wordless interchange went on for a few moments, and then a hand, a woman's hand--O fair, imprisoned ladies of all time!--appearedcautiously at the open shutter, waved and pointed. 

It pointed toward the buckeye tree. Pudge threw a stone in thatdirection and sauntered after it, pitching and throwing. Once at thecorner, after a suitable exhibition of casualness, he climbed until hefound himself higher than the fence, facing the house. 

While he was thus occupied, things had been happening there. The shutterhad been thrown back and a woman was climbing down by the help of awindow ledge below and a pair of knotted window curtains. 

Another woman prepared to follow her, gesticulating forcibly to theother not to wait, but to run. Run she did, but it was not until Pudge, lying full length on the buckeye bough, reached her a hand that hediscovered her to be his sister's friend, Geneviève Remington. 

In the interval of her scrambling up by the aid of the bent bough andsuch help as he could give her, they had neglected to observe the otherwoman. Now, as Mrs. Remington's heels drummed on the outside of thefence, Pudge was aware of some commotion in the direction of the house, and saw Miss Eliot running toward him, crying: "Run, run!" while twomen pursued her. She made a desperate jump toward the tree, caughtthe branch, hung for a moment, lost her hold, and brought Pudgeignominiously down in a heap beside her. 

If Miss Eliot had not contradicted it, Pudge would have believed to hisdying day that bullets hurtled through the air; it was so necessary tothe dramatic character of the adventure that there should be bullets. He recovered from the shock of his fall in time to hear Miss Eliotsay: "Better not touch me, Mike; if there's so much as a bruise when myfriends find me, you'll get sent up for it. "

Her cool, even tones cut the man's stream of profanity like a knife. He came threateningly close to her, but refrained from laying hands oneither of them. 

Meantime his companion drew himself up to the top of the fence for alook over, and dropped back with a gesture intended to be reassuring. Pudge rose gloriously to the occasion. 

"The others have gone back to call the police, " he announced. Mike spatout an oath at him, but it was easy to see that he was not at all surethat this might not be the case. The possibility that it might be, checked a movement to pursue the fleeing Geneviève. Miss Eliot caughttheir indecision with a flying shaft. 

"Mrs. George Remington, " she said, "will probably be in communicationwith her friends very shortly. And between his wife and his old and dearfriend Mike it won't take George Remington long to choose. "

This was so obvious that it left the men nothing to say. They fell insurlily on either side of her, and without any show of resistance shewalked calmly back toward the house. Pudge lingered, uncertain of hiscue. 

"Beat it, you putty-face!" Mike snarled at him, showing a yellow fang. "If you ain't off the premises in about two shakes, you'll get what'scomin' to you. See?"

Pudge walked with as much dignity as he could muster in the directionof the public road. He could see nothing of Mrs. Remington in eitherdirection; now and then a private motor whizzed by, but there was noother house near enough to suggest a possibility of calling for help. 

He concealed himself in a group of black locusts and waited. In abouthalf an hour he heard a car coming from the house with the mansard roof, and saw that it held three occupants, two men and a woman. The menhe recognized, and he was certain that the woman, though she was wellbundled up, was not E. Eliot. 

The motor turned away from the town and disappeared in the oppositedirection. Pudge surmised that Mike was making his getaway. He waitedanother half hour and began to be assailed by the pangs of hunger. Thehouse gave no sign; even the smoke from the chimney stopped. 

He was sure Miss Eliot was still there; imagination pictured herweltering in her own gore. Between fear and curiosity and the savinghope that there might be food of some sort in the house, Pudge left hishiding place and began a stealthy approach. 

He came to the low stoop and crept up to the closed front door. Hoveringbetween fear and courage, he knocked. But there was no response. Withgrowing boldness he tried the door. It was locked. 

The rear door also was bolted; but, creeping on, he found a highside window that the keepers of this prison in their hasty flight hadforgotten to close. With the aid of an empty rain barrel, which heoverturned and rolled into position, Pudge scrambled with much hardbreathing through the window and dropped into the kitchen. Here helistened; his ears could discern no sound. On tiptoe he crept throughthe rooms of the first floor--but came upon neither furtive enemy norimprisoned friend. Up the narrow stairway he crept--peeped intothree bedrooms--and finally opening the door of what was evidently astoreroom, he found the object of his search. 

E. Eliot sat in an old splint-bottomed chair--gagged, arms tied behindher and to the chair's back, and her ankles tied to the chair's legs. Ina moment Pudge had the knotted towel out of her mouth, and had cut herbonds. But quick though Pudge was, to her he seemed intolerably slow;just then E. Eliot was thinking of only one thing. 

This was the final afternoon of the campaign and she was away out here, far from all the great things that might be going on. 

She gave a single stretch of her cramped muscles as she rose. "I knowyou--you're Betty Sheridan's brother--thanks, " she said briskly. "Whattime is it?"

Pudge drew out his most esteemed possession, a watch which kept perfecttime--except when it refused to keep any time at all. 

"Three o'clock, " he announced. 

"Then our last demonstration is under way, and when I tell my story--"E. Eliot interrupted herself. "Come on--let's catch the trolley!"

With Pudge panting after her, she hurried downstairs, unbolted the door, and, running lightly on the balls of her feet, sped in the direction ofthe street car line. 

CHAPTER XIV. BY LEROY SCOTT

In the meantime, concern and suspense and irruptive wrath had theirchief abode in the inner room of Remington and Evans. George hadreceived a request, through Penny Evans, from the chief of police toremain in his office, where he could be reached instantly if informationconcerning Geneviève were received, and where his help could instantlybe secured were it required; and Penny had enlarged that request to themagnitude of a command and had stood by to see that it was obeyed, andhimself to give assistance. 

George had recognized the sense of the order, but he rebelled at theenforced inactivity. Where was Geneviève?--why wasn't he out doingsomething for her? He strode about the office, fuming, sick with thesuspense and inaction of his rôle. 

But Geneviève was not his unbroken concern. He was still afire with thehigh resentment which a few hours earlier had made him go striding intothe office of the _Sentinel_. Fragments of his statement to the editorleaped into his mind; and as he strode up and down he repeated phrasessilently, but with fierce emphasis of the soul. 

Now and again he paused at his window and looked down into Main Street. Below him was a crowd that was growing in size and disorder: the lastafternoon of any campaign in Whitewater was exciting enough; much moreso were the final hours of this campaign that marked the first entranceof women into politics in Whitewater on a scale and with an organizedenergy that might affect the outcome of the morrow's voting. 

Across the way, Mrs. Herrington, the fighting blood of five generationsof patriots roused in her, had reinstated the Voiceless Speech withinthe plate-glass window broken by the stones of that morning and washerself operating it; and, armed with banners, groups of women fromthe Woman's Club, the Municipal League and the Suffrage Societywere marching up and down the street sidewalks. It was their finaldemonstration, their last chance to assert the demands of goodcitizenship--and it had attracted hundreds of curious men, vote-owners, belonging to what, in such periods of political struggle, are referredto on platforms as "our better element. "

Also drifting into Main Street were groups of voters of lessprepossessing aspect--Noonan's men, George recognized them to be. Thesejeered and jostled the marching women and hooted the remarks of theVoiceless Speech--but the women, disregarding insults and attacks, wenton with their silent campaigning. The feeling was high--and George couldsee, as Noonan's men kept drifting into Main Street, that feeling wasgrowing higher. 

Looking down, George felt an angered exultation. Well, his statement inthe _Sentinel_, due upon the street almost any moment, would answer allthese and give them something to think about!--a statement which wouldmake an even greater stir than the declaration which he had issuedthose many weeks ago, when, fresh from his honeymoon, he had begun hiscampaign for the district attorneyship. --[Illustration: Across the way, Mrs. Herrington, the fighting blood of five generations of patriotsroused in her, had reinstated the Voiceless Speech. ] These people belowcertainly had a jolt coming to them!

George's impatient and glowering meditations--the hour was then nearfour--were broken in upon by several interruptions, which came on him inquick succession, as though detonated by brief-interval time-fuses. Thefirst was the entrance of that straw-haired misspeller of his letterswho had succeeded Betty Sheridan as guardian of the outer office. 

"Mr. Doolittle is here, " she announced. "He says he wants to see you. "

"You tell Mr. Doolittle _I_ don't want to see _him_!" commanded theirritated George. 

But Mr. Benjamin Doolittle was already seeing his candidate. Aspolitical boss of his party, he had little regard for such a formalityas being announced to any person on whom he might call--so he had walkedthrough the open door. 

"Well, what d'you want, Doolittle?" George demanded aggressively. 

Mr. Doolittle's face wore that look of bland solicitude, thatunobtrusive partnership in the misfortune of others, which had madehim such an admirable and prosperous officiant at the last rites ofresidents of Whitewater. 

"I just wanted to ask you, George--" he was beginning in his soft, lily-of-the-valley voice, when the telephone on George's desk startedringing. George turned and reached for it, to find that Penny hadalready picked up the instrument. 

"I'll answer it, George. .. . Hello. .. Mr. Remington is here, but is busy;I'll speak for him--I'm Mr. Evans. .. . What--it's you! Where are you?. .. Stay where you are; I'll come right over for you in my car. "

"Who was that?" demanded George. 

"Geneviève, " Penny said rapidly, seizing his hat, "and I'm going----"

"So am I!" exclaimed George. 

"Not till we've had a little understanding, " sharply put in Doolittle, blocking his way. 

"Stay here, George, " his partner snapped out--"she's perfectlysafe--just a little out of breath--telephoned from a drug store over inthe Red-field district. I'll have her back here in fifteen minutes. " Andout Penny dashed, slamming the door. 

But perhaps it was the straw-haired successor of Betty Sheridan whoreally prevented George from plunging after his partner. 

"You ordered the _Sentinel_ sent up as soon as it was out, " she said. "Here are six copies. "

George seized the ink-damp papers, and as the straw-haired one walkedout in rubber-heeled silence he turned savagely upon his campaignmanager. 

"Well, Doolittle?" he demanded. 

"I just want to ask you, George----"

George exploded. "Oh, you just want to ask me! Well, everything you wantto ask me is answered in that paper. Read it!"

Doolittle took the copy of the _Sentinel_ which was thrust into hishands. George watched him with triumphant grimness, awaiting the effectof the bomb about to explode in the other's face. Mr. Doolittle unfoldedthe _Sentinel_--looked it slowly through--then raised his eyesto George. His face seemed somewhat puzzled, but otherwise it wasoverspread with that sympathetic concern which, as much as his hearseand his folding-chairs, was a part of his professional equipment. 

"Why, George. I don't just get what you're driving at. "

Forgetting that he was holding several copies of the Sentinel, Georgedropped them all upon the floor and seized the paper from Mr. Doolittle. He glanced swiftly over the first page--and experienced the highestvoltage shock of his young public career. Feverishly he skimmed theremaining pages. But of all that he had poured out in the office of the_Sentinel_, not one word was in print. 

Automatically clutching the paper in a hand that fell to his side, hestared blankly at his campaign manager. Mr. Doolittle gazed back withhis air of sympathetic concern, bewildered questioning in his eyes. Andfor a space, despite the increasing uproar down in the street, there wasa most perfect silence in the inner office of Remington and Evans. 

Before either of the two men could speak, the door was violently flungopen and Martin Jaffry appeared. His clothing was disarranged, hismanner agitated--in striking contrast to the dapper and composedappearance usual to that middle-aged little gentleman. 

"George, " he panted, "heard anything about Geneviève?"

"She's safe. Penny's got charge of her by this time. "

His answer was almost mechanical. 

"Thank God!" Uncle Martin collapsed in one of the office chairs. "Mind--if sit here minute--get my breath. "

George did not reply, for he had not heard. He was gazing steadily atMr. Doolittle; some great, but as yet shapeless, force was surging updazingly within him. But he somehow held himself in control. 

"Well, Doolittle, " he demanded, "you said you came to ask something. "

Mr. Doolittle's manner was still propitiatingly bland. "I'll mentionsomething else first, George, if you don't mind. You just remarked I'dfind your answer in the _Sentinel_. There must 'a' been some littleslip-up somewhere. So I guess I better mention first that the _Sentinel_has arranged to stand ready to get out an extra. "

"An extra! What for?"

"Principally, George, I reckon to print those answers you just spokeof. "

George still kept that mounting something under his control. "Answers towhat?"

"Why, George, " the other replied softly, persuasively. "I guess we'dbetter have a little chat--as man to man--about politics. Meaning nooffense, George, stalling is all right in politics--but this timeyou've carried this stalling act a little too far. As the result of yourtactics, George, why here's all this disorder in our streets--and theafternoon before election. If you'd only really tried to stop thesemessing women----"

"I didn't try to stop them by kidnapping them!" burst from George--andUncle Martin, his breath recovered, now sat up, clutching his homespuncap. 

"Kidnapping women?" queried the bland, bewildered voice of the partyboss. "I say, George, I don't know what you're talking about. " "Why, you--" But George caught himself. "Speak it out, Doolittle--what do youwant?"

"Since you ask it so frankly, George, I'll try to put it plain: Youbeen going along handing out high-sounding generalities. There's nothingbetter and safer than generalities--usually. But this ain't no usualcase, George. These women, stirring everything up, have got the solidinterests so unsettled that they don't know where they're at--or whereyou're at. And a lot of boys in the organization feel the same way. Whatthe crisis needs, George, is a plain statement of your intentions asdistrict attorney, which we can get into that _Sentinel_ extra and whichwill reassure the public--and the organization. "

"A plain statement?" There was a grim set to George's jaw. 

"Oh, it needn't go into too many details. Just what you might call aringing declaration about this being the greatest era of prosperityWhitewater has ever known, and that you conceive it to be the duty ofyour administration to protect and stimulate this prosperity. The peoplewill understand, and the organization will understand. I guess you getwhat I mean, George. "

"Yes, I get what you mean!" exploded George, his fist crashing upon thetable. "You mean you want me to be a complacent accessory to all thelegal evasions that you and your political gang and the rich bunchbehind you may want to get away with! You want me to be a crook inoffice! By God, Doolittle----"

"Shut up, Remington, " snapped the political boss, his soft manner nowvanished, his whole aspect now grimly menacing. "I know the rest of whatyou're going to say. I was pretty certain what it 'ud be before I camehere, but I had to know for sure. Well, I know now, all right!"

His lank jaws snapped again. 

"Since you are not going to represent the people that put you up, Idemand your written withdrawal as candidate for the district attorney'soffice. "

"And I refuse to give it!" cried George. "I was nominated by aconvention, not by you. And I don't believe the party is as crooked asyou--anyhow I'm going to give the decent members of the party a chanceto vote decently! And you can't remove me from the ballot, either, forthe ballot is already printed and----"

"That'll do you no----"

"I thought some time ago I was through with this political mess, " Georgedrove on. "But, Doolittle, damn you, I've just begun to get in it! AndI'm going to see it through to the finish!"

Suddenly a thin little figure thrust itself between the bellicose pairand began shaking George's hand. It was Martin Jaffry. 

"George--I guess I'm my share of an old scoundrel--and a trimmer--buthearing some one stand up and talk man's talk--" He broke off to shakeGeorge's hand again. "I thought you were the king of boobs--but, boy, I'm with you to wherever you want to go--if my money will last thatfar!"

"Keep out of this, Jaffry, " roughly growled Doolittle. "It's too latefor your dough to help this young pup. Remington, we may not take youoff the ballot, but the organization kin send out word to the boys----"

"To knife me! Of course, I expect that! All right--go to it! But I'm onthe ballot--you can't deprive people of the chance of voting for me. AndI shall announce myself an independent and shall run as one!"

"We may not be able to elect our own nominee, " harshly continuedDoolittle, "but we kin send out word to back the Democratic candidate. Miller ain't much, but, at least, he's a soft man. And that _Sentinel_extra is going to say that a feeling has spread among the respectableelement that it has lost confidence in you, and is going to say thatprominent party members feel the party has made a mistake in everputting you up. So run, damn you--run as a Democrat, a Republican, anIndependent--but how are you going to git it across to the public in away to do yourself any good--without backing? How are you going to gitit across to the public?"

His last words, flung out with overmastering fury, brought George upshort, and he saw this. Doolittle's wrath had mounted to that pitchwhich should never be reached by the resentment of a practicalpolitician; it had attained such force that it drove him on to taunt hisman. "How are you going to git it before the public?" he again demanded, eyes agleam with triumphant rancor--"with us shutting you off andhammering you on one side?--and them damned messy women across thestreet hammering you from the other side? Oh, it's a grand chance youhave--one little old grand chance! Especially with those dear damnedfemales loving you like they do! Jest take a look at what the bunch overthere are doing to you!"

Doolittle followed his own taunting suggestion; and George, too, glancedthrough his window across the crowded street into the shattered windowwhence issued the Voiceless Speech. In that jagged frame in the rawNovember air still stood Mrs. Harvey Herrington, turning the giantleaves of her soundless oratory. The heckling request which then struckGeorge's eyes began: "_Will Candidate Remington answer_----"

George Remington read no more. His already tense figure suddenlystiffened; he caught a sharp breath. Then, without a word to the two menwith him, he seized his hat and dashed from his office. The street waseven more a turbulent human sea, with violently twisting eddies, thanhad appeared from George's windows. It seemed that every member of theorganizations whom Mrs. Herrington (and also Betty Sheridan, and laterE. Eliot, and, at the last, Geneviève) had brought into this fight, werenow downtown for the supreme effort. And it seemed that there were nowmore of the so-called "better citizens. " Certainly there were more ofNoonan's men, and these were still elbowing and jostling, and makinglittle mass rushes--yet otherwise holding themselves ominously incontrol. 

Into this milling assemblage George flung himself, so dominated by thefiery urge within him that he did not hear Geneviève call to him fromPenny's car, which just then swung around the corner and came to a sharpstop on the skirts of the crowd. George shouldered his way irresistiblythrough this mass; the methods of his football days when he had beenfamed as a line-plunging back instinctively returned--and, all thefine chivalry forgotten which had given to his initial statement to thevoters of Whitewater so noble a sound, he battered aside many of those"fairest flowers of our civilization, to protect whom it is man's dutyand inspiration. "

His lunging progress followed by curses and startled cries of feminineindignation, he at length emerged upon the opposite sidewalk, and, breathless and disheveled, he burst into the headquarters of theVoiceless Speech. 

Some half-dozen of Mrs. Herrington's assistants cried out at his abruptentrance. Mrs. Herrington, forward beside the speech, turned quicklyabout. 

"Mr. Remington, you here!" she cried in amazement as he strode towardher. "What--what do you want?"

"I want--I want--" gasped George. But instead of finishing his sentencehe elbowed Mrs. Herrington out of the way, shoved past her, and steppedforth in front of the Voiceless Speech. There, standing in the frame ofjagged plate-glass, upon what was equivalent to a platform raisedabove the crowd, he sent forth a speech which had a voice. "Ladies andgentlemen!" he called, raising an imperative hand. The uproar subsidedto numerous exclamations, then to surprised silence; even Noonan's menchecked their disorder at this appearance of their party's candidate. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, " and this Voiceful Speech was loud, --"I'm hereto answer the questions of this contrivance behind me. But first letme tell you that though I'm on the ballot as the candidate of theRepublican party, I do not want the backing of the Republican machine. I'm running as an Independent, and I shall act as an Independent. 

"Here are my answers:

"I want to tell you that I shall enforce all the factory laws. 

"I want to tell you that I shall enforce the laws governing housingconditions--particularly housing conditions in the factory district. 

"I want to tell you that I shall enforce the laws governing child laborand the laws governing the labor of women. 

"And I want to tell you that I shall enforce every other law, and shalltry to secure the passage of further laws, which will make Whitewatera clean, forward-looking city, whose first consideration shall be thewelfare of all. 

"And, ladies and gentlemen--" he shouted, for the hushed voices hadbegun to rise--"I wish I could address you all as fellow-voters!--Iwant to tell you that I take back that foolish statement I made at theopening of the campaign. 

"I want to tell you that I stand for, and shall fight for, equalsuffrage!

"And I want to tell you that what has brought this change is what someof the women of White-water have shown me--and also some of the thingsour men politicians have done--our Doolittles, our Noonans----"

But George's speech terminated right there. Noise there had been before;now there burst out an uproar, and there came an artillery attack ofeggs, vegetables, stones and bricks. One of the bricks struck George onthe shoulder and drove him staggering back against the Voiceless Speech, sending that instrument of silent argument crashing to the floor. Regaining his balance, George started furiously back for the window; butMrs. Herrington caught his arm. 

"Let me go!" he called, trying to shake her off. 

But she held on. "Don't--you've said enough!" she cried, and pulled himtoward the rear of the room. "Look!"

Through the window was coming a heavier fire of impromptu grenades thatrolled, spent, at their feet. But what they saw without was far morestirring and important. Noonan's men in the crowd, their hoodlumism nowunleashed, were bowling over the people about them; but these reallyconstituted Noonan's outposts and advance guards. 

From out of two side streets, though George and Mrs. Herrington couldnot see their first appearance upon the scene, Noonan's real armynow came charging into Main Street, as per that gentleman's griminstructions to "show them messin' women what it means to mess inpolitics. " Hundreds of Whitewater's women were flung about, manysent sprawling to the pavement, and some hundreds of the city's mostrespectable voters, caught unawares, were hustled about and knocked downby the same ruthless drive. 

"My God!" cried George, impulsively starting forward. "The damnedbrutes!"

But Mrs. Herrington still held his arm. "Come on--they're making a drivefor this office!" breathlessly cried the quick-minded lady. "You can dono good here. Out the rear way--my car's waiting in the back street. "

Still clutching his sleeve, Mrs. Herrington opened a door and ran acrossthe back yard of McMonigal's building in a manner which indicated thatthat lady had not spent her college years (and similarly spent the yearssince then propped among embroidered cushions consuming marshmallows andfudge. )

The lot crossed, she hurried through a little grocery and thence intothe street. Here they ran into a party that, seeing the riot on MainStreet and the drive upon the window from which George had spoken, hadrushed up reinforcements from the rear--a party consisting of Penny, E. Eliot, Betty Sheridan and Geneviève. "Geneviève!" cried George, andcaught her into his arms. 

"Oh, George, " she choked. "I--I heard it all--and it--it was simplywonderful!"

"George, " cried Betty Sheridan, "I always knew, if you got the rightkind of a jolt, you'd be--you'd be what you are!"

E. Eliot gripped his hand in a clasp almost as strong as George's arm. "Mr. Remington, if I were a man, I'd like to have the same sort of stuffin me. "

"George, you old roughneck--" began Penny. 

"George, " interrupted Geneviève, still chokingly, her protective, wifelyinstinct now at the fore, "I saw you hit, and we're going to take youstraight home----"

"Cut it all out, " interrupted the cultured Mrs. Herrington. "This isn'tMr. Remington's honeymoon--nor his college reunion--nor the annualconvention of his maiden aunts. This is Mr. Remington's campaign, andI'm his new campaign manager. And his campaign manager says he's notgoing away out to his home on Sheridan Road. His campaign headquartersare going to be in the center of town, at the Commercial Hotel, where hecan be reached--for there's quick work ahead of us. Come on. "

Five minutes later they were all in the Commercial Hotel's best suite. 

"Now, to business, Mr. Remington, " briskly began Mrs. Herrington. "Ofcourse, that was a good speech. But why, in heaven's name, didn't youcome out with it before?"

"I guess I really didn't know where I stood until today, " confessedGeorge, "and today I tried to come out with it. "

And George went on to recount his experience with the _Sentinel_--hisscene with Doolittle--and Doolittle's plan for an extra of the Sentinel, which was doubtless then in preparation. 

"So they've got the _Sentinel_ muzzled, have they--and are going to getout an extra repudiating you, " Mrs. Herrington repeated. There came aflash into her quick, dark eyes. "I want our candidate to stay righthere--rest up--get his thoughts in order. There are a lot of things tobe done. I'll be back in an hour, Mr. Remington. The rest of you comealong--you, too, Mrs. Remington. "

Mrs. Herrington did not altogether keep her word in the matter of time. It was two hours before she was back. To George she handed a bundle ofpapers, remarking: "Thought you'd like to see that _Sentinel_ extra. "

"I suppose Doolittle has done his worst, " he remarked grimly. Heglanced at the paper. His face went loose with bewilderment at what hesaw--headlines, big black headlines, bigger and blacker than he hadever before seen in the politically and typographically conservative_Sentinel_. He read through a few lines of print, then looked up. 

"Why, it's all here!" he gasped. "The kidnapping of Miss Eliot andGeneviève by Noonan's men--my break with Doolittle, my denunciation ofthe party's methods, my coming out as an independent candidate--thatriot on Main Street! How on earth did that ever get into the_Sentinel_?"

"Some straight talk, and quick talk, and the exercise of a little ofthe art of pressure they say you men exercise, " was the prompt reply. "I telephoned Mr. Ledbetter of the _Sentinel_ advising him to holdthe extra Mr. Doolittle had threatened until he heard from Mr. WesleyNorton, proprietor of the Norton Dry Goods Store. You know, Mr. Nortonis the _Sentinel_'s largest single advertiser and president of theWhitewater Business Men's Club. 

"Then a committee of us women called on Mr. Norton and told him thatwe'd organize the women of the city and would carry on a boycottcampaign against his store--we didn't really put it quite as crudelyas that--unless he'd force the _Sentinel_ to stop Mr. Doolittle's lyingextra and print your statement. 

"Mr. Norton gave in, and telephoned the _Sentinel_ that if it didn't doas he said he'd cancel his advertising contract. Then, to make sure, we got hold of Mr. Jaffry, called on Mr. Ledbetter, who called in thebusiness manager--and your Uncle Martin told them that unless theyprinted the truth, and every bit of it, and printed it at once, he wasgoing to put up the money to start an opposition paper that _would printthe truth_. That explains the extra 'Well', " ejaculated George, stillstaring, "you certainly are a wonder as a campaign manager!"

"Oh, I only did my fraction. That Miss Eliot did as much as I--she's afind--she's going to be one of Whitewater's really big women. AndBetty Sheridan, you can't guess how Betty's worked--and your wife, Mr. Remington, she's turning out to be a marvel!

"But that's not all, " Mrs. Herrington continued rapidly. "We boughtten thousand copies of that extra for ourselves--your uncle paid forthem--and we're going to distribute them in every home in town. Whenthe best element in Whitewater read how the women were trampled downby Noonan's mob--well, they'll know how to vote! Mr. Noonan will neverguess how much he has helped us. "

"You seem to have left nothing for me to do, " said George. 

"You'll find out there'll be all you'll want, " replied the brisk Mrs. Herrington. "We're organizing meetings--one in every hall in the city, one on almost every other street corner, and we're going to rush youfrom one to the next--most of the night--and there'll be no letup foryou tomorrow, even if it is election day. Yes, you'll find there'll beplenty to do!"

The next twenty-four hours were the busiest that George Remington hadever known in his twenty-six years. 

But at nine o'clock the next evening it was over--the tumult and theshouting and the congratulations--and all were gone save only MartinJaffry; and District-Attorney-Elect Remington sat in his hotel suitealone in the bosom of his family. 

He was still dazed by what had happened to him--at the part he hadunexpectedly played--dazed by the intense but well-ordered activity ofthe women: their management of his whirlwind tour of the city; theirorganization of parades with amazing swiftness; their rapid and completehouse-to-house canvass--the work of Mrs. Herrington, of Betty, ofthat Miss Eliot, of hundreds of women--and especially of Geneviève. He marveled especially at Geneviève because he had never thought ofGeneviève as doing such things. But she _had_ done them--he feltthat somehow she was a different Geneviève: he didn't know what thedifference was--he was in too much of a whirl for analysis--but he hadan undefined sense of _aliveness_, of a spirited, joyous initiative inher. 

She and all the rest seemed so strange as to be unbelievable. And yet, she--and all of it--true!. .. 

From dramatic events and intangible qualities of the spirit, hisconsciousness shifted to material things--his immediate surroundings. Not till this blessed moment of relaxation did he become aware ofthe discomforts of this suite--nor did Geneviève fully appreciate theflamboyantly flowered maroon wall-paper and the jig-saw furniture. 

"George, "' she sighed, "now that you're not needed down here, can't wego home?"

"Home!" The word came out half snort, half growl--hardly the tonebecoming one whose triumph was so exultingly fresh. With a jar he hadcome back to a present which he fully understood. "Damn home! I haven'tany home!"

Geneviève stared. Uncle Martin snickered, for Uncle Martin had the giftof understanding. 

"You mean those flowers of womanhood whom chivalrous man----"

"Shut up, " commanded George. He thought for a brief space; then his jawset. "Excuse me a moment. "

Drawing hotel stationery toward him, he scribbled rapidly and thensealed and addressed what he had written. 

"Uncle Martin, your car's outside doing nothing; would you mind goingon ahead and giving this little note to Cousin Alys Brewster-Smith, andthen staying around and having a little supper with Geneviève and me?We'll be out soon, but there are a few things I want to talk over withGeneviève alone before we come. "

Uncle Martin would oblige. But when he had gone, there seemed tobe nothing of pressing importance that George had to communicate toGeneviève. Nor half an hour later, when he led his bride of four monthsup to their home, had he delivered himself of anything which seemed torequire privacy. 

As they stepped up on the porch, softly lighted by a frosted bulb in itsceiling, Cousin Emelene, her cat under her arm, came out of the frontdoor and hurried past them, without speech. 

"Why, Cousin Emelene!" George called after her. 

She paused and half turned. 

"You--you--" she half choked upon expletives that would not comeforth. "The man will come for my trunks in the morning. " Thrusting ahandkerchief to her face, she hurried away. 

"George, what can have happened to her?" cried the amazed Geneviève. 

But George was saved answering her just then. Another figure had emergedfrom the front door--a rather largish figure, all in black--her lefthand clutching the right hand of a child, aged, possibly, five. And thisfigure did not cower and hurry away. This figure halted, and glowered. 

"George Remington, " exclaimed Cousin Alys, "after yourinvitation--you--you apostate to chivalry! That outrageous letter! Butif I am leaving your home, thank God I'm leaving it for a home of myown! Come on, Martin!"

With that she stalked away, dragging the sleepy Eleanor. 

Not till then did George and Geneviève become aware that Uncle Martinwas before them, having until now been obscured by Mrs. Brewster-Smith'soutraged amplitude. His arms were loaded with coats, obviously feminine. 

"Uncle Martin!" exclaimed George. 

"George, " gulped his uncle--"George--" And then he gained control of adazed sort of speech. "When I gave her that letter I didn't know it wasa letter of eviction. And the way she broke down before me--a woman, youknow--I--I--well, George, it's my home she's going to. "

"You don't mean----"

"Yes, George, that's just what I mean. Though, of course, I'm takingher back now to Mrs. Gallup's boarding-house until--until--good-night, George; good-night, Geneviève. " The little man went staggering down thewalk with his burden of wraps; and after a minute there came the soundof his six-cylinder roadster buzzing away into the darkness. 

"I didn't tell 'em they had to go tonight, " said George doggedly. "ButI did remark that even if every woman had a right to a home, everywoman didn't have the right to make my home her home. Anyhow, " histone becoming softer, "I've at last got a home of my own. Our own, " hecorrected. 

He took her in his arms. "And, sweetheart--it's a better home than whenwe first came to it, for now I've got more sense. Now it is a home inwhich each of us has the right to think and be what we please. "

 * * * * *

At just about this same hour just about this same scene was beingenacted upon another front porch in Whitewater--there being the slightdifference that this second porch was not softly illuminated by anyfrosted globule of incandescence. Up the three steps leading to thissecond porch Mr. Penfield Evans had that moment escorted Miss ElizabethSheridan. 

"Good-night, Penny, " she said. 

He caught her by her two shoulders. 

"See here, Betty--the last twenty-four hours have been mighty busyhours--too busy even to talk about ourselves. But now--see here, you'renot going to get away with any rough work like that. Come across, now. Will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Say, how long do you think you're a paid-up subscriber to this littledaily speech of mine?. .. Well, if I've got to hand you another copy, here goes. You promised me, on your word of honor, if George swungaround for suffrage, you'd swing around for me. Well, George has comearound. Not that I had much to do with it--but he surely did comearound! Now, the point is, Miss Betty Sheridan, are you a woman of yourpromise--are you going to marry me?"

"Well, if you try to put it that way, demanding your pound of flesh----""One hundred and twenty pounds, " corrected Penny. 

"I'll say that, of course, I don't love you, but I guess a promise is apromise--and--and--" And suddenly a pair of strong young arms were flungabout the neck of Mr. Penfield Evans. "Oh, I'm so happy, Penny dear!"

"Betty!"

After that there was a long silence. .. Silence broken only by thatsoftly sibilant detonation which belongs most properly to the month ofJune, but confines itself to no season. .. To a long, long silenceborn of and blessed by the gods. .. Until one Percival Sheridan, comingstealthily home from a late debauch at Humphrey's drug store, andmounting the steps in the tennis sneakers which were his invariable wearon dry and non-state occasions, bumped into the invisible and unhearingcouple. 

"Say, there--" gasped the startled youth, backing away. 

Betty gave an affrighted cry--it was a long swift journey down fromwhere she had just been. Her right hand, reaching drowningly out, fellupon a familiar shoulder. 

"It's Pudge!" she cried. "Pudge"--shaking him--"snooping around, listening and trying to spy----"

"You stop that--it ain't so!" protested the outraged Pudge, hisutterance throttled down somewhat by the chocolate cream in his mouth. 

"Spying on people! And, besides, you've been stuffing yourself withcandy again! You're ruining your stomach with that sticky sweetstuff--you're headed straight for a candy-fiend's grave. Now, you goupstairs and to bed!"

She jerked him toward the door, opened it, and as he was thrust throughthe door Pudge felt something, something warm, press impulsively againsta cheek. Not until the door had closed upon him did he realize whatBetty had done to him. He stood dazed for a moment--unbalanced betweenimpulses. Then the sturdy maleness of fourteen rewon its dominance. 

"Guess I know what they was doing, all right--aw, wouldn't it make yousick!" And, in disgust which another chocolate cream alleviated hardlyat all, he mounted to his bed. 

Outside there was again silence. .. Faintly disturbed only by that softlysibilant, almost muted percussion which recalls inevitably the month ofJune. .. . 

THE END