"'You may be mayor of this town before you are thirty. A fat mayoress would never do'""'You may be mayor of this town before you are thirty. A fat mayoress would never do'"
"If I'd known what was before me twenty years ago, I'd have been more careful. One—two—three! Can't do what's before me unless I reduce. Avoid oatmeal and cream, that's what does it! You may be mayor of this town before you are thirty. A fat mayoress would never do. It would suggest beer! And look at me. I'm already so fat I have to lie down to take my exercise! But Regis and I have planned enough work to keep you lean this summer," she added, sitting up apparently satisfied with her state of exhaustion.
"That's what I came to see you about," said thegirl, seating herself and looking down sorrowfully. "Father is dreadfully upset. He has forbidden me to mention woman suffrage in the house."
"Well, don't, then; don't speak of it at all to him."
"But he will never consent to my holding this trusteeship."
"Aren't you twenty-one?"
"I'm twenty-four, as to that, but——"
"If you were your father's son, do you think he would forbid your having your own convictions and living up to them?" the older woman interrupted.
"No, but I'm only his daughter!" Selah said.
"Can't you see that is provided for? If he forbade you the house, you still have twelve hundred dollars a year, which is certainly more than he could afford to give you."
"That isn't it: he can't do without me, he needs me."
"Listen to me, Selah! Men have been our little children for so long that we do not know how to wean them. Here you are, ready to resign the greatest opportunity any young woman has ever had in this state in order to stay at home and break your father's breakfast eggs and putter over him and keep himsoothed by agreeing with everything he says. That's why men can vote and we can't. That's why they get everything, and we get nothing but our board and clothes. We've humoured and pampered them until they have no sense of us and our needs," she concluded, twisting her hair angrily into a tight knot on the back of her head.
"Oh, I wish I knew what was right!" cried the girl, clasping her hands.
"We've tried the old sacrificial righteousness long enough, Selah, to know that it is not contagious so far as we are concerned. Now you just take my advice, and we'll have the new righteousness for women proved in Jordan County before the end of this year!"
"As soon as that?" cried the girl, enthused in spite of herself.
"Yes, if we can win at all we can do it in a few months. Regis and I planned the whole campaign this morning. Give me that kimono. Now let me have your hand. It's not so easy to get to one's feet at sixty, Selah!"
She was sublimely unconscious of the figure she made moving across the room with the ends of herkimono trailing back like the gray wings of an old duck-legged hen. She gathered up some loose sheets from her desk.
"Here's the whole thing—all divided into three parts. Yours will be in some ways the most difficult. You'll have the organizing to do among the women in the country districts. But we've decided to get a good motor. You'll need to cover distances rapidly. That will be one agreeable feature at least. You and Bob Sasnett may find it convenient to do your canvassing together!" she laughed, while Selah blushed.
If by some miracle a modern man should awaken some morning to find himself thrust back a hundred years in time, although in the same place where he had always lived, he could not believe in the reality of a single thing he saw. Every man and every woman would be merely characters in an historical romance. Every sentence he would hear would sound like fiction. All manners and customs would seem exaggerated, sentimental, and he himself would give the impression of being a monster without breeding or a single attribute becoming to proper manhood.
If, on the other hand, he should by some incantation be projected forward only fifty years in time, still in the place of his birth, the effect of unreality would be even more startling, especially if those things should have happened which prophets predict and toward which all progress tends. Conditions would be unendurable, manners offensive. No man would seem quite a man. No woman would seem modest. Clothes, customs, beliefs, ambitions, and ideals would all have changed. And he himself would seem to them a pitiable reversion to type, ludicrously unequal to meeting the emergencies of advanced civilization. In short, there are no lasting standards of living. Education, morals, economics, finance, and politics are only the cards we play every generation in the progressive euchre of evolution. The honesty with which we play the game determines the worth of society.
At the end of a month Jordantown had not undergone so great a metamorphosis as fifty years would make, but it was in the throes of a frightful evolution. The changes already wrought were so amazing that the author may be excused if this record fails to convince the reader of their reality. At least halfthe citizens themselves did not and could not believe that they were not walking in a hideous nightmare from which they hoped to awaken and find their womankind properly subdued and returned to the less conspicuous sphere of womanhood.
The first bomb exploded when Samuel Briggs resigned as director of the National Bank. Mr. Briggs had been elected to represent the stock owned by the Mosely Estate. He had not only resigned, but he had ventured to propose the name of Mrs. Susan Walton as a suitable person to represent the same stock which was now owned and controlled by the Co-Citizens' Foundation Fund. He did not add that he had been able to retain his position as agent only by signing a contract with the Board of Trust to obey every instruction given him with all the energy and influence he possessed in the town. This demand, that he should resign as director in favour of Mrs. Walton, was the first test made of his obedience.
Having offered his suggestions Briggs leaned back in his chair, smoked, and stared at the ceiling, while the eleven other directors stared at him with the horror of honest men contemplating an armed traitor.
"If this is going to be a hencoop instead of a bank, I'll draw every dollar I have in it out, and sell my stock to the lowest bidder!" exclaimed a frowsy old man, clawing his whiskers. This was Thaddeus Bailey. He owned three grocery stores in Jordantown, and had a monopoly on that trade.
"I don't know how much money you have on deposit, Thad, but it will take more stock than you own to satisfy that mortgage you owe to this new-fangled female suffrage fund," answered his neighbour.
"What'll we do with her if we elect her?" asked Acres.
"Better ask what she'll do with the bank?" some one replied.
"She'll run it, that's what! Didn't she run her husband for Congress till his tongue hung out? Ain't she running the whole female population of this county at the present time?"
"Hang it! I'd rather close the doors of this bank than elect that woman a director!" exclaimed Coleman.
"Come to the same thing if you didn't," replied Briggs. "Take it from me, the trustees will withdrawthe last dollar they have invested in it. You couldn't pay. And then they'd declare you insolvent, appoint Susan Walton receiver, and take the whole thing over!"
"I move we let her in, gentlemen, and appropriate fifty dollars to add a ladies' dressing-room. Susan's looking up. She'll need it. She's beginning to powder her nose, and she's bought a new bonnet, thank God!" said Bob Sasnett with his usual laugh.
When the directors were leaving the bank after indignantly electing Mrs. Walton to the board, Coleman looked at Sasnett suspiciously.
"Where do you stand in this damn business, anyhow, Bob?" he demanded.
"Oh, I'm not standing at present, Stark, I'm crawling on my umbilicus same as the rest of you; the only difference is that I retain the charm and radiance of my countenance."
"When do you purpose to announce your candidacy for representative?"
Sasnett looked at him so quickly that even his smile scarcely veiled the shrewdness of his glance.
"Waiting for the women to settle Mike Prim," he answered. "If they don't, you fellows may electhim. Mike's so deep rooted in your affairs a man couldn't dig him up without soiling his hands."
"Think the women can?"
"Not a doubt of it if they get wise to him, and they are so naïvely unscrupulous, bless their hearts, that they'll do some things to accomplish their purpose a man can't afford to do."
"And if they settle Mike, you'll run on the crinoline ticket, I suppose?" Coleman answered.
"Can't say yet, Stark; don't want to give myself away, but I'm buying my collars at the Co-Citizens' Coöperative League Emporium!" he said, winking his eye and drawing up the corner of his mouth in a most offensive manner.
This reference to the women's coöperative store was far from being a joke.
The first floor of the old Mosely residence had been divided in half with a partition. The walls between the rooms on each side had been fitted up in a modern and expensive manner with shelves and counters, middle-aisle showcase, and so forth. The right-hand division was a drygoods and millinery department, with such a display of hats and finery as never had been seen before in Jordantown. Theleft division contained everything necessary to thrifty existence, from horse collars to hams, sugar and molasses, flour and corn meal.
The upper rooms of the house were used as offices for the female trustees of the Fund, and for the various committees, of which there were an amazing number in order that as many women as possible should have prominent and executive relations to the Co-Citizens' movement.
The whole front of the place was ablaze every night with electric signs. "The Co-Citizens' League Headquarters," winked across the front of the upper story. Beneath that "The Women's Coöperative Department Stores" winked in blue, red, and white light splendour.
This was not the worst of it: Susan Walton, aided and abetted by John Regis, had secured the services of foreign female talent, expert saleswomen, bookkeepers, and a general manager, also a female. With the assistance of these experienced persons they had purchased such a stock and assortment of goods as no merchant in Jordantown could afford. They paid cash, and counted the discount as part of the profit. They figured to a cent the cost of the stockand the expense of running the store, and they sold without reference to making any profit at all. What they lost or failed to collect was charged up as "campaign expense" against the Foundation Fund!
"This store is a kind of suffragist flypaper put out to catch as many as we can by offering bargains and credit to possible voters," said Susan to Judge Regis.
"But, my dear woman, bribing voters is a penal offence," exclaimed the Judge, laughing.
"This is not bribery, John. This is a premium we are offering to get men to vote on this measure at all. That is going to be the great difficulty. Even if we get enough of them to sign the petition to hold the election, they may outwit us by remaining away from the polls. When men have employed every other argument to get their way with women, they cease to argue, back their ears, plant their fore feet, and balk. We shall cause it to be known that credit can be had at this store only by persons who furnish sufficient assurance that they will vote in the election!" she explained.
"But in case they vote against suffrage?" he asked, smiling grimly.
"Before time for the election we shall have convincedthe men of this county of so many financial disasters to follow upon such perfidy, that the majority will not dare cast their ballots against us," she retorted.
"Intimidation is also a penal offence at the polls, Susan!"
"Do you think men will ever admit that they have been intimidated politically by women? Never! It was you yourself who said influence is not influence, it's power! We've got that. Before the spring season is over, we shall have forced all the merchants in this town into bankruptcy, or we shall have proper assurance of their support. When Acres and the rest have kicked against the pricks long enough to realize the situation, we will let them know upon what conditions only this store will charge regulation prices for goods. We may offer to sell out to them. The mercantile life does not appeal to me. This store is not a financial venture. It is a political guide to the polls of the county!"
"Well, you must hurry the issue, Susan. Twenty thousand dollars will not last six months the way you are spending it. That suffragist motor car we bought last week cost twenty-two hundred dollars!" he warned.
"If we win at all we shall do it in less than six months," answered the valiant old termagant.
Meanwhile all was confusion in the stores on the avenue. Drays piled high with boxes and barrels were drawn up before the doors of the League store. A perfect thunder of industry went on within, while the ladies of the town crowded the street from one end of the block to the other. They talked, they inspected, they matched samples as fast as the laces and dress goods were placed upon the shelves and counters. They compared prices; they were excited, elated beyond measure. On the square trade was not exactly languishing yet, but it stood with hands raised in dumb astonishment. Business men had not been informed of the projected store. They did not conceive of such outrageous competition until the thing was actually ready to open its doors. Even then they were not prepared for the cut in prices. Acres continued to sell fifteen pounds of sugar for a dollar a week after the Coöperative Store began to sell twenty pounds for the same price. Percale that could be bought for ten cents a yard on the avenue, sold on the square for fifteen cents.
"They can't keep it up!" Acres predicted. "Just shows how unfit women are for business."
"But a damphule ought to know that ham can't be sold for twelve and a half cents per pound!" cried Thad Bailey furiously.
They had both failed to get the usual spring loan from the National Bank, due entirely to the fact that at the first directors' meeting, the new director had demanded to know exactly how much they owed already, and she refused to sanction the advance of another dollar to any merchant in Jordantown.
"Gentlemen, I have reason to know that these men will not be able to pay the interest upon the loans this bank has already made to them. We cannot afford to risk another advance," she explained.
Fortunately, the two victims had absented themselves from this meeting. But no argument or appeal from the others could move her.
Every one suspected the worst, but no one really knew what was on foot, for up to this time not a word was heard of suffrage for women.
Only one man besides Judge Regis seemed to know what was going forward. This was Magnis Carter,and he refused to tell what he knew. He merely explained that he was preparing certain announcements for theSignal, which would of course include an advertisement of the new store. If anybody wanted to know what was going on, let them read theSignal. It always contained the news. He was tremendously puffed up. He was inclined to snub the curious. Lord save us! did anybody think he was going to give away his own scoop?
He was also silent about a certain transaction between him and Susan Walton.
Three days before the formal opening of the Coöperative Store, she surprised him at his editorial desk. This was a deal table in a corner of the printing office. It was littered with proof, scratch paper, scissors, mucilage, pencils, inkwells, and a case of "pie." He was engaged in sorting this. His collar and cravat hung upon a nail on the wall above the table. He was in his shirt sleeves. His hair was rumpled, his fingers inky.
But the first thing he thought of when he saw the old lady picking her way between bales of paper near the door of the office, was his socks. The day was very warm, and he thought he remembered pullingthem down to cool his legs. It was impossible to make sure. You cannot pull up your socks in the presence of a woman, even an old woman. Besides, she had her mouth primped severely and her eyes fixed with a soap-and-water expression upon him.
He leaped from his chair, showing a purple rim around each ankle and the bare skin above. He cast a despairing glance at his collar, and made a dive for his coat.
"Oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Walton! Excuse me," he exclaimed, thrusting his arms in the sleeves. "I was not expecting this honour, as you see!"
She advanced and deliberately seated herself in the chair he had vacated.
"Don't trouble to put on your coat, Mr. Carter. It's very warm in here," fanning herself. "I think we shall have to move theSignalto the Woman's Building on the avenue. There is still the kitchen and pantry we could use—very large pantry—make an excellent private editorial office."
"I beg pardon, Madam, what did you say?"
He had forgotten his socks. His eyes protruded. She laughed—it was the triumph of mind over matter—thatlaugh, an old woman's cackle, he being the matter. He did not like it. He stood waiting for an explanation, seeing that she occupied the only chair. He felt that it would take a good deal to explain how and why she thought she could induce him to move the office of theSignalinto the kitchen of that female rat trap on the avenue.
She came immediately to the point, a thing you never do in business unless you are sure you have the drop on the other fellow.
"The Co-Citizens' Foundation Fund holds a mortgage on theSignal, Mr. Carter?" She put this affirmative in the form of a question.
"Er—I believe there was a small mortgage held by the Mosely Estate," he admitted.
"And with the four years' interest due, I believe it covers the value of the property now, doesn't it?" She had taken out another pair of spectacles and adjusted them upon her upturned nose.
"About," he added, dazed.
"We shall be glad to retain your services. That is what I am here for this afternoon, to make arrangements with you, if possible."
Carter raised his hand, scratched his chin throughhis beard, squinted one eye, and took sight along the barrel of his personal interest at Susan.
"We are prepared to bear all the expense of publication and offer you a salary of one hundred dollars a month to conduct the paper; but of course we should expect to control the policy of it absolutely. We purpose to make it the organ of the Woman's Suffrage Movement here. I should myself dictate most of the editorials."
"You should, Madam?" he exclaimed.
"Yes."
"And where would I come in?"
"Oh, we should want you to do the work, get up advertisements, write special articles along such educational lines for the movement as we should suggest. You would 'come in' a great deal, Mr. Carter. You would be the busiest man in Jordantown."
"But, good Lord—beg pardon! You want me to become a woman suffragist, Madam—and I'm a man!"
"We should certainly require you to work for it. Suffrage for women is not a matter of sex. It's a question of common justice."
"At what salary did you say?" he asked after a thoughtful pause.
"One hundred dollars a month, and we pay the expense of publication," she answered.
Carter had never cleared a dollar as editor of theSignal. He could not even have supported himself if he had paid the interest on his mortgage. Still he hesitated. He was not sure that this offer did not mean the sale of his manhood, on the installment plan, at so much a month. He wondered what the men would think of this arrangement. His wit in the paper had long consisted in humorous comments upon the modern woman, and the Suffrage Movement in particular.
"Give me time to think it over," he said.
"Until to-morrow morning," she said, rising. "In case you accept the position we shall expect you at nine o'clock. There is some advertising stuff for the next issue, and I shall want to dictate an editorial."
"And if I do not accept?" he put in as she advanced toward the door.
"In that case we shall take charge of theSignalas soon as we can foreclose the mortgage," she answered without looking back.
"Er—good afternoon, Mrs. Walton!" he suddenly called after her.
"Good afternoon. Remember, promptly at nine o'clock!" she returned, still without looking back.
Carter sat for an hour after her departure scratching his chin. He crossed his legs, shook his elevated foot, showed every sign of profound concentration. He was making up his mind to become a decimal point in the Woman Suffrage Movement. It was like making up his mind to be born again, and not so well born at that!
But "promptly at nine o'clock" the following morning he appeared at Susan's office in the Woman's Building, accepted the nominal editorship of theSignal, and submitted to the indignity of taking down the editorial which she dictated.
On Saturday theSignalappeared. It was a wonder. The entire front page was taken up with an advertisement of the Women's Coöperative Store. The quality of everything was the best. The prices quoted were far below what they had ever been before in Jordantown.
But that which paralyzed the whole male populationin the square was this announcement at the top of the editorial page:
Owned and Controlled
By the Co-Citizens' Foundation.
Susan Walton,
Managing Editor.
Magnis Carter,
Assistant Editor.
Price $1.00 a year.
Advertising rates reduced one half to all women and
to friends of the Suffrage Movement in Jordan County.
This was bad enough, but the crowning affront was the leading editorial.
"TheSignalhas become the property of the Co-Citizens' Foundation Fund, bequeathed by the late Sarah Hayden Mosely for the purpose of obtaining suffrage for women in Jordan County," was the opening sentence. "Henceforth the paper will be published in the interest of the Suffrage Movement and in any other interests which do not conflict directly or indirectly with this movement. No matter containing adverse criticism of suffrage for womenwill be published. And no advertisements from any source not known to be friendly to the movement will be accepted. For this reason all those which have not been paid for in advance have been excluded. Business men who desire the use of our columns for advertising should call at the office of theSignalat their earliest convenience, to give assurance of their support of the policy of this paper in order that they may still use its columns as an advertising medium."
The paragraph which followed stated brazenly that the majority of the citizens of Jordan County were heartily in favour of suffrage for women, and that they were determined no longer to endure "taxation without representation," and so forth and so on. There was no hysterical railing about the partialities of men for men in the administering of law and the interpretation of the rights of citizenship.
The astonished readers understood for the first time, however, that Jordantown and Jordan County were in the grip of something stronger than feminine sentimentality or even the Democratic party.
The office of theSignalhad actually been moved to the Woman's Building. The transit took placesome time during the night. No one knew when. Carter came and went through a side entrance formerly used by delivery wagons when they brought Sarah Mosely her meagre household supplies. He remained in seclusion there, as modest as a girl, and only Susan Walton knew with what diligence he laboured. No man dared to seek him in the seclusion of that place. And when Mike Prim called him over the 'phone, after the first issue of theSignalunder the new management, demanding that he should come to his office at once, Carter declined to obey the summons. This was incredible. For years he had been the henchman of Prim. He had received from time to time modest sums for publishing copy prepared under Prim's supervision and designed to influence public opinion in proper Prim channels.
However, late one night when Carter slipped into the quiet side street with a roll of proof under his arm, he walked not exactly into the arms of Mike Prim, who was standing in the shadows just outside, but it would be more exact to say that he slipped directly in vocative range of Mike's rage.
"Look here, Carter, what the —— do you mean by selling theSignalto these blankety-blank-blankwomen?" he exclaimed as the editor started back astonished and for the moment disconcerted.
"Didn't. The Mosely Estate owned a mortgage covering the paper; you know that!" he answered quickly.
"Andyouknow theSignalwas the official organ of our party. And you've betrayed like——"
"Stop!" hissed Carter, lifting his roll of proof over Prim's head as if it had been a policeman's billy. "Don't you insult me, Mike! I don't have to take any more of your damn impudence and I won't!"
"Well, what did you sell out for?" growled Prim.
"I tell you I didn't. They owned the paper. They'll own this town inside of six months. They've got the last one of you like 'possums with their tails in a split stick! And you'll find it out. Don't talk to me about selling theSignal! The people who own a paper always control its policies."
"And what's become of your political convictions, Magnis, with your apron-string editorials?" the other sneered.
"A really intelligent, progressive editor, Mike, moulds public opinion. He don't get it from a villageboss. I'm becoming intelligent. I'm following the trend of our times."
"The hell you are! You're sitting on that old she-cat's footstool taking dictation!" he snorted, turning upon his heels and slumping off down the street.
If there is anything more exasperating than a Republican to an old Adam Democrat of the South, it must be the little political Eve-rib in his side turned into a maverick female suffragist with no traditions and no fears of consequences to keep her inside established party lines.
The scene which Jordantown presented by the 1st of June is as difficult to describe—the mere physical changes—as it is to interpret these changes. The square was practically deserted; the Acres Mercantile Company was not even able to hold its country trade. Every farmer made straight for the Women's Coöperative Store. The avenue was filled from morning till night with wagons and buggies and a slow-moving procession of men in hickory shirts, and their wives and daughters. They were drawn by curiosity and cupidity. Both were gratified. They received more in barter for their countryproduce; and, besides that, there was always a "committee of ladies" on hand to show them through and to enlighten them upon many things besides the price of commodities.
There is a theory to the effect that women follow men. It is based upon one-sided experience for the most part. The reason they do is because so far they have never had the opportunity to lead. The present situation in Jordantown afforded this opportunity. Women were rarely seen now upon the square, but the avenue literally teemed with men. They crowded the aisles of the stores; they blocked the sidewalks. Only the victims held aloof. Acres, Thad Bailey, and the other merchants remained bitterly faithful to the square. The usual groups of loafers occupied the courthouse veranda. Colonel Marshall Adams had apparently retired from public life. He spent his days on his farm, which lay upon the outskirts of the town. He could be seen returning late in the evening, seated upon an old pacing horse like a wounded warrior barely able to keep in his saddle.
There was a report in Jordantown to the effect that real estate had fallen in value, that the workingmenwere leaving, that bankruptcy and starvation stared every man in the face. But if this was so, there was no way to warn the people. TheSignalpublished every week glowing accounts of the prosperity of the town. The most amazing information appeared from week to week concerning the growth of sentiment in favour of suffrage for women. The locals were filled with complimentary notices of the comings and goings of country matrons and country belles who had never seen their names in print before. And there was an occasional interview from some woman prominent in the suffragist movement.
Martin Acres reached the infuriated end of his patience when he saw the following quotation from Mabel, who had permitted herself to be interviewed.
"Do you think women know better how to buy and sell than men?" Mrs. Acres was asked.
"Of course they do. Isn't it women who have to cook, or see to it? Then why shouldn't they know better than men what is proper food for their families? And isn't it women that make the clothes and who wear most of them? So we naturally know better what stuffs we need for clothes. If you could seethe ugly dimities and ginghams and calicoes we have worn in this town all our lives, chosen by colour-blind merchants who do not know what is becoming to us! Things are different here this spring, our groceries are of a better quality, and our frocks are infinitely more becoming."
There was more in the same tenor. But Acres was too angry to read further. He rushed into his wife's room with theSignalin his hand.
"Did you say that, Mabel?" he shouted, thrusting the offensive page beneath her nose.
"What, Martin?" she exclaimed, lifting her hand to thrust it aside as she stared up at her husband.
"Did you give out this scandalous interview criticising me and my business?" he insisted.
"Why, Martin, how could you think such a thing! I never uttered a critical word of my husband in my life!"
"Then you didn't say it?"
"Let me see what you are talking about," she said, craning her neck to see the print. "Ohthat! Yes, Mrs. Walton asked me to say something to show how natural it is, and how right, you know, for women to keep a store, do the sedentary thingswhile men do the hard things—till the ground, and all that. Did you read——"
"No, by Gad! I didn't read far enough to see that you wanted me to become a day labourer!"
"Oh, I wasn't speaking of you, dear, I was just promulgating one of the theories of our movement. I was so flattered when Mrs. Walton asked me——"
"Your movement be damned, Mabel! Enough of a thing is enough. You will resign to-morrow from this plagued movement which is carrying us all to the devil!"
"But, Martin, I can't; I'm chairman of the Finance Committee. Mrs. Walton——"
"Don't let me hear that old viper's name again in this house. She's the serpent in this town tempting the last one of you to——"
"I can't have you speak disrespectfully of our chief, dear," said Mabel with frigid dignity.
"And what's your husband, I'd like to know!"
"Why, you, you are just my husband, Martin, as I used to be just your wife!"
"Good Lord, Mabel, you are crazy! Don't you know you are helping that gang to drive me into bankruptcy!"
Mrs. Acres was the living feminine likeness of Pin Money. She was very small, very fair, with faded blue eyes. Her clothes were always too tight, and she wore narrow ruffles like the hope, the mere hope, of feathers and wings to come.
She looked up now into her husband's face with a curious little white smile.
"I know that I am all that stands between you and ruin, Martin. I've been waiting to talk to you, to give you a hint, but our affairs are not entirely in shape. We are not ready to show our hand."
"To show her hand! And this from my own wife!" groaned Acres, beginning to stride up and down the room.
"Listen, dear," said Mabel, rising and following him. "I ought not to do it, but I will give you just one little hint."
"All right,hint!" he sneered.
"Call on Judge Regis to-morrow, and tell him you are very much interested in suffrage for women in this county. Say that you'd like to take your part in bringing it about. Just that, no more. And you'll see what happens." She turned her head to one side and looked at him with treacherous sweetness.
"I'll be hanged if I do!"
"Be reasonable, Martin!"
"Don't talk to me about being reasonable. I'm one of the few reasonable beings left in this town."
"Well, that kind of reason is out of fashion now. You've got to share our reasons, Martin. Women have a rationality you men do not recognize; now you've got to."
"I will not! But suppose I do?"
"You'll get immediate relief from your present financial pressure, for one thing."
"Tell that to the marines!"
"Very well. I'll stand between you and—and ruin as long as I can, but if you don't give in I can't save you!" she whimpered.
"And what about Thad Bailey and Baldwin and Saddler and all the other merchants?" he asked curiously, with his nose pointed like a terrier who smells a rat.
"The sooner you or somebody persuades them to go to Judge Regis and make the same agreement, the sooner you'll get what you want," she replied.
"And what we don't want! Do you think for a moment the men in this county would give women the vote even if they could, Mabel?"
"I don't think about it, Martin, I know you are going to be forced to do it, and I want you to give in before it is too late to save your credit; you'll be a day labourer before you know it if you don't listen to reason," she concluded tearfully.
"Reason! Reason! A set of crazy women dictating to men. What is reason?" shouted the furious little merchant as he rushed from the room.
The domestic atmosphere of Jordantown from one end to the other was charged with thunderstorm possibilities. The wives of all the citizens were attending hurriedly to their household affairs, and then attending to other affairs which were not household. Every day some council or committee met in the Woman's Building. They even met in the evenings. Putting on their hats and taking the latchkey, they went out as nonchalantly as ever their husbands had gone. They weathered the rage of these husbands with singular calm, very much as mothers cheerfully witness the tantrums of their growing children. The fact that they went out in the evenings was not remarkable. The women of Jordantown were pious. They attended prayer meetings regularly: they made up the congregation on Wednesdayevenings. But now they neglected this service and gathered in the upper chambers of the Woman's Building. The community was going to the dogs. Every man said so to every other man he met on the square, but no man confided to the other that his wife had been out until half-past ten o'clock the night before.
One evening Stark Coleman was in the library reading theSignal. His wife came in, seated herself, and overflowed the low rocking-chair on the other side of the table with her voluminous skirts. She was tall and very large. Her face was as placid as that of a clock which has just marked the last hour of the day and has nothing to do but tick-tock until bed-time.
This was the one hour of the day when they were alone together after the children had been put to bed. They usually spent it in silence. Probably no two people in the world have as little to say to one another as a husband and wife after they have been married a dozen years. Each knows all the other thinks. They become fearful mind readers of one another's most secret thoughts. Long ago they settled all their differences in the struggles of their firstardent loving years. Henceforth one commands while the other obeys. Everything is finished between them but their lives. These go on like weary vegetation from which their children gather the fruit.
Coleman had enjoyed several years of this kind of peace. It never occurred to him to wonder if his wife did. She had the children. He liked the quiet evenings after the noise and bustle in the bank, with his wife for a mere presence. And without being aware of the fact, he liked the diffidence with which she always awaited his pleasure, never breaking in rudely upon his rest with her feminine affairs unless he signified his willingness to listen.
During the past two months, however, he was aware of a different quality in Mrs. Coleman's silence. She held to it even when he wished to talk, answering him in monosyllables. She was preoccupied. The senseless turmoil in which the town had been thrown by the Co-Citizens' agitation was foreign to all he had ever known of her nature and retiring disposition, and he was loath to connect her with it. But he could not help knowing that she was interested, to what extent he did not know, owing to this growing reserve. Still he did his best to defend her in histhoughts. She had spent the whole of her married life bearing children very much as a tree puts out leaves every spring. This year it seemed to have occurred to her that she would not have a baby. At least she did not. Instead of that she had taken a verdant new lease on life herself, apparent in the figured muslins which she got from the Coöperative Store. Coleman attributed her activities, which he called "social," to the fact that she could "go out."
She looked now in the soft lamplight like an enormous azalea in full bloom. She sat with folded hands humming a tune, not any known air, but one of those nasal harmonies women sometimes accomplish through their noses as a cat purrs to signify content.
The humming annoyed Coleman. Everything annoyed him these days. He fidgeted, slapped one knee violently over the other, and jerked theSignalopen as if he would rend it sheet from sheet.
"Hu-u-m, hu-e-e-u-m hum!" droned Mrs. Coleman, her eyes fixed upon a large chromo of the Virgin Mary and the Infant Jesus hanging upon the opposite wall.
Perspiration broke out in beads upon her husband's brow. He uncrossed his legs and brought his footdown with a bang on the floor. Surely she would understand that he was disturbed. She did not. She went on.
"H-u-m, hu-e-e-um, hum——"
He leaped from his chair, strutted into the hall and out upon the veranda.
"Hu-u-e-e hum!"
It followed him through the windows of the library, which were open.
He rushed back, his hands clenched behind his back, his whole body inflated with rage.
"Agatha!" he exclaimed, planting himself squarely in front of her. "Will you stop making a trombone of your nose?"
"You must be nervous," she said, looking up at him serenely.
"Iamnervous, I'm nearly crazy. This town is going to hell!"
"Your language, Stark! If——"
"Don't talk to me about my language, Agatha! The native speech of hell is blasphemy, and I've been in it for two months. I should think you would have noticed the condition I'm in."
"I have."
"Then why do you make that infernal noise through your nose?"
"I suppose it's because I am happy." She said that!
"Happy! Look here, I must prepare you for what's coming. The bank's going to fail."
"Oh, no!"
"Yes, it is. We haven't made a loan in six weeks. We've been obliged to turn down nearly fifty thousand dollars' worth of investments since that woman became director. She represents a majority of the stocks and she refuses to lend a dollar or to risk a single cent on anything in this town. The bank might as well be a miser's box. Business is at a standstill."
"Not on the avenue. We are doing splendidly in the Coöperative Store."
"We? Are you in that thing, too?"
"Nearly every woman here is, except Mrs. Sasnett, even the poorest. You have no idea how interested they are. I never dreamed so many women of all classes wanted the ballot."
"Agatha, I must insist upon your withdrawing from that bedlam in the Woman's Building. I did not suspect that you were really interested. It is unwomanly."
"I can't, Stark. I'm chairman of the Income Committee, and——"
"Who's chairman of the Dead Cat Committee?" he sneered.
"Mike Prim, we think," she laughed.
He gasped. It was a kind of pollution for a woman even to know of Prim's existence.
"And I'm enjoying the work so much," Agatha went on.
"You are enjoying ruining your husband! That's what you mean, even if you do not know it," he accused.
"On the contrary, I'm saving you, Stark. If it was not for the prominent part I've taken in this movement, and the influence I'm expected to exert over you, you would not now be president of the bank."
"Upon my word!"
"I've been waiting to talk to you, dear, to explain. I've only waited until you should realize the situation. I knew you wouldn't listen before," she went on kindly.
"Very well, the first thing I want you to explain is what good you think this damnation Foundationwill accomplish by destroying the business and credit of this town?" he said, drawing up a chair and seating himself belligerently in front of her.
"We shall induce you to favour the cause of suffrage——"
"Even supposing it is possible according to the constitution of this state for us to give women the ballot, don't you know that you are only exciting antagonism, making an enemy of every voter in the county?" he interrupted.
"Until you understand, yes, possibly. But when you do realize that we hold the situation in our hands, your common sense will compel you to surrender in order to escape the pressure. It's so simple," she smiled.
"It is! It's damn simple! Only a set of foolish women could have devised such a plan! Think I'm going to knuckle to that old Walton cat! She's taking all of the cash out of the bank as fast as it comes in to run her schemes, and——"
"She is only taking the rent and interest on the property of the Foundation as it is deposited. I suppose you were in the habit of lending it."
"Of course, what do you think a bank is for?"
"You'll never have the use of another dollar until you give in."
"It's all nonsense this ballot for women, Agatha; we can't give it to you, and God knows I don't want to!"
"Why?"
"It's against nature. Women lack the wisdom, the experience, the er—the shrewdness to conduct the affairs of government. You have no idea how many wheels within wheels there are."
"Yes, we have, Stark, we know all about Mike Prim! If you are wise you will not drive us to deal with Prim!" she said, looking at him queerly. "And besides," she went on, "we have had the shrewdness, as you call it, to block the business of this town. You'll never be able to do anything so long as we hold you up."
"You can't stop the commerce of a whole county with twenty thousand dollars, Agatha. You may inconvenience us for a time but——"
"It isn't the interest we count upon, you see—that's the smallest part of it. It's the way we have our capital invested. It's the land beneath your feet, the boards above your head, the stock in your bank, the goods in your stores. We've got most ofit! I wish you would listen to reason, Stark!" she concluded.
He had not heard half of it. He was wondering what she meant by that reference to Prim. But he caught the last sentence.
"And suppose I do listen to reason, as you call it. How would I go about it?" he asked as he would have tested the strength of an enemy, not that he had the remotest intention of following her advice.
"Go to Judge Regis in the morning and tell him that you are interested in suffrage for women. Say that you are heartily in favour of it and——"
"I'll be hanged if I do! I'll——"
The telephone bell rang. Coleman went out in the hall to answer the call.
"Yes, I'm here," his wife heard him say.
"What's the matter? Oh, all right, be glad to see you."
He returned to the library still frowning, very angry, but really thankful for any diversion which seemed to lead from an offensive discussion.
"Wonder what's up now. Stacey has just called. Wants to see me at once. Coming right over," he explained.
"Church business. I'll go up and see if the children are comfortable. It's very warm," Agatha said innocently as she left the room.
Five minutes later Stacey came in. He looked like a good man whose salvation had been mortgaged for its full value. He parted his long coat-tails and sat down. He regarded Coleman with a watery expression. His mouth was pulled up in the middle and drawn down at the corners.
"I suppose Mrs. Coleman has already informed you?" he began in sepulchral tones.
"About what?" asked Coleman, who warily avoided admitting that he was not in Agatha's confidence.
"About what happened this afternoon at the Woman's Home and Foreign Missionary meeting."
"My wife is still upstairs with the children," he evaded.
"I saw Mrs. Sasnett as soon as it was over. She came straight to me and told me all that had occurred. Really I could not have believed such a thing could happen in a Christian community!" he groaned.
"What did happen? Has that Walton womangarnisheed the missionary collection?" asked Coleman impatiently.
"Worse than that! I fear there will be no collection," he answered, wagging his head. Then he went on:
"Mrs. Sasnett, as you know, is a very loyal worker. She's president of the society here. She did what she could to prevent the catastrophe, but she was powerless. Then she resigned. This was Rally Day, you know. The women from all the county churches came in. There must have been two hundred of them. We looked forward to a very profitable meeting. I prayed the opening prayer myself. Then I had some calls to make. It was after I went out that it happened," the inference being that had he remained it could not possibly have happened. "The minutes were read. Mrs. Sasnett made an address. Then, as is the custom, she opened the meeting for general discussion.
"She said that before any one else had time to get up, Mrs. Walton arose and began to speak. As president, Mrs. Sasnett told me she tried to stop her when she realized the iniquitous trend of her remarks. But she was unable to do so. The women in the congregationactually clapped their hands and insisted that she should be allowed to go on.
"That woman— I can hardly bring myself to speak of her with respect—began by saying that she had long felt called as a Christian citizen—she used the term citizen—to inform the women of our church of the mistake they were making with their missionary dues. She had too much confidence in their motherhood to believe they would be guilty of such heathen conduct if they really understood.
"The report Mrs. Sasnett gave was so vivid I'm able to quote the very words of Mrs. Walton's outrageous assault upon the church.
"'This state ranks third from the bottom in the United States in illiteracy, and Jordan County ranks third from the bottom in this state! We have a public school system which lasts only five months in the year!' That was her opening sentence.
"'Do you know what this means, women of Jordan County? That your children will be the bond servants of the next generation. That they will not be fitted to hold any but the lowest positions in society and in the industrial world. If your daughtersmarry they must marry ignorant men. If they do not marry and seek to better their condition in the world, they cannot do so, they must enter factories, become servants. They will not know how to spell well enough to be stenographers even. If your sons remain on the farms, they will be renters; they cannot hold the land. Ignorance means bankruptcy for the poor farmer now. If they leave the farm for the cities, they will become street-car drivers, porters, janitors, day labourers. The time has passed when a country boy without education can go to the city, make a hit, and become President of the United States. Instead of that they are forced to accept the lowest society the city affords. They are the victims of its vices.
"'Now listen to me. The women of this state pay more to home and foreign missions in the various churches than the state does for the common school fund. Where does your money go? To found schools in Soochow, China, and Yokohama, Japan, and in Kobe, and in Siam, and in Africa. You do not know it, but you women pay two thirds of all the money that goes to support the church. You do that much toward building churches, supporting connectionalofficers, prelates, pastors, missions, the whole thing, and you are not even allowed a voice in determining the way your money shall be spent. You do the "Lord's work," and the men profit by it. You pray most of the prayers that are prayed properly in secret. You furnish four fifths of all the piety—and your own children grow up in ignorance. Do you think the Lord blesses such labour and sacrifice? I tell you He will not. Look at your children, mothers, you women from the farms, who left them this very day working in the fields, when they should be in school!'
"Mrs. Sasnett says that she wrought so upon the emotions of those women that they actually wept.
"She went on reminding them of the sacrifices they made to raise their missionary dues. She even went so far as to call attention to their clothes, their hats that were so old-fashioned. She calculated what they contributed one way and another to the church, Coleman, as if that were a crime. Then she concluded by telling them that they could have schools nine months in the year for their own children with the best teachers if they would only do the Lord's work and pay the same amount for this purpose.And when Mrs. Sasnett tried to interrupt her, she grew violent.
"'Hold up your right hand, every woman present who is willing to pledge herself to give never another dollar to foreign missions or to the support of the church until her children have schools nine months in the year!'
"And would you believe it, nearly all of them held up their hands. Some of the old women shouted! Mrs. Sasnett said it resembled a love-feast. She said they crowded around Mrs. Walton as if—well, as if she'd been a preacher!"
He sighed and looked at Coleman, who made no comment. He was chairman of the Board of Stewards in the Jordantown church, and he was making a rapid mental calculation of the deficit that was likely to occur.
"Of course," Stacey went on, "they were excited. There will be a reaction when we remind them of their vows to support the institutions of the church. But what am I to do, meanwhile? I have not taken any collections for this year."
"Don't take them now!" said Coleman quickly.
"It may be worse later on. You know that MissAdams has been canvassing the county for weeks, arranging those Co-Citizens' Leagues in every voting precinct. I hear that she has made capital out of that failure in Porter County where they tried to float a bond issue to secure a full school term. The men voted it down, especially the farmers. Claimed that they needed the children to work the crops and gather them. She's using that to prove that we need compulsory education in this county and that we'll never get it until the women can vote."
"I don't know what Marshall Adams can be thinking of, allowing his daughter to get into this mess!" said Coleman.
Stacey looked at him. He wondered if this man knew how deep his own wife was in the same "mess."
"I suppose you have heard that they are getting ready for a big mass meeting here?" he ventured.
"That so?"
"Going to announce their plans, I hear."
"Well, I hope they do. When we know what they are up to, we will know how to stop them."
"You think we can?"
"Certainly! Can women force us to the polls, or compel us to vote for this silly measure? Besides,the state constitution is a perfect protection; only males can vote. This is all a form of feminine hysteria, Stacey; it's bound to pass. Just sit tight in the boat and wait. I don't mind telling you that the trustees of this—d—er—this Foundation are spending their income like water. When that gives out, they'll be at the end of their tether. They can't touch the principal."
"But they might borrow on it," Stacey put in doubtfully as he arose to take his departure.
This was a devilish possibility of which Coleman had not thought. He was angry with Stacey for suggesting it.
"Damphule to leave the church with Susan Walton in it!" he grumbled as he went upstairs.
Agatha was already in bed. She lay with her hands crossed above the coverlid, her eyes closed, her face resting upon the pillow as serene as the epitaph of a good woman on a large white tombstone.
He undressed stealthily. He would no more have disturbed her than he would have thrust a thorn in his side. He turned out the light and lay down beside her, scarcely allowing himself the relief of a sigh.
Instantly Agatha's eyes flew open. She lay verystill watching him. She could make out his nose in the dark. It was a powerfully built, upstanding nose which even the shadows of the night did not entirely conceal. Slowly she divined his features one by one. A man, even the ablest, looks very helpless in his sleep. She saw his chin drop, his mouth open. Then the silence was parted by a certain sound, exactly the same sound she had heard every night since she had married—"Ha-a-w-s-ah! Ah-ha-a-w-sah." It was a cross between the bray of an ass and the excruciating grief of a cat.
Most men come down to this the moment they sink into the unconsciousness of slumber. It is a kind of reversion to type which they suffer without knowing it.
Agatha had often lain awake resenting the blasts which Coleman sent through his nose. But to-night the sound touched some cord of tenderness. It reminded her of the years and years they had lived together as they could never live again. She laid her hand gently upon his breast. He gave a terrific snort, then groaned. Even in his sleep he was troubled. She, his wife, had failed him in some dear intimacy of the soul. She wondered how she would be ableto hold out against him. It was no use to pretend that she was not against him. She knew that she was, that nothing but an incredible change in the order of things could unite them again as they had been; that even then they would be different. They would spend the remainder of their lives adjusting themselves to strange conditions. She began to weep softly. She was glad that at least nothing could change Stark's snore!
One reason why more men do not join the oldest order in the world—the Brotherhood of Man—is because its constitution and by-laws are neither secret nor cryptic. Everybody knows what they are, and everybody knows what they mean. "Love thy neighbour as thyself," "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you," "Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged; and with what measure ye mete it shall be measured to you again."
There is a whole Book filled with these regulations for the governing of this ancient order. But it has the largest circulation of any book in the civilized world, and any one is eligible to membership bysome profession of faith. So you cannot choose your brethren. This is directly opposed to one of our strongest instincts as social animals: the instinct of election and selection in this present world. The Brotherhood does what it can, of course, to segregate the different classes and caste of men into creeds and missions and saints and sinners. But it is not successful, and the failure has resulted, especially among men, in the founding of innumerable secret orders—to say nothing of adolescent college fraternities, where youths are trained in snobbishness, and to all the traditions and mysteries which mask these orders. There is no more virtue in being a Mason, or a Knight of Pythias, or an Elk, or an Odd Fellow than there is in being a Christian gentleman, but there is more distinction among men. So they are complimented to be chosen and elected to one of these goat-riding organizations.
Women have never been accepted as members of these orders, though they are sometimes annexed under a separate "star," for example, or as mere useful "Rebecca" appendages. Enough "Eastern Stars," or "Rebeccas" in a town will do all the drudgery, bake all the cakes, and get ready generally forthe annual celebration of the real order to which they have been annexed, you understand. But they never share the inner shrine privileges with their lords. They do not wear the royal purple, nor the red-and-gold-lace uniforms of the Knights, nor carry banners. If you see them at all they will be tacked on to the end of the parade, with cotton-ribbon badges pinned to their bosoms just to show that they sustain a meek cup-bearing culinary relation to the Sons of Heaven prancing in front.
Still, if they could, women would indulge in the same vanity of secret orders. The trouble is that they are so situated in life that they cannot hold together, unless they are in a shirtwaist factory and join a labour union. The great majority are confined, one in a house, or in the innocuous desuetude of society, where there is no bond of common interest, but violent feminine competition. They have no issue which unites them; they do not hold together. They do well to hold the men. This keeps them anxious, tearful, deceitful, and busy, besides being dear and sweet for the same purpose.
But of all creatures they do crave mysteries. And they do love secrets—something to whisper.
Selah Adams, by virtue of the fact that during her college years she had belonged to a sorority with Greek letter coverings and many gruesome rites within, was the one person engaged in the suffrage campaign who recognized the advantage to be derived from secrecy in organizing the women for the struggle. She perceived the appeal that this would make to their pride and ambition. It was at her suggestion that all the work of committees in Jordantown should be conducted as quietly as possible. The women were pledged not to betray plans to any one but women belonging to the League. So when women of all classes discovered that they would be received most cordially in an organization fostered by the leading ladies of the place, they hastened to join. For the first time social lines in Jordantown disappeared. The banker's wife walked down the steps of the Woman's Building arm in arm with the grocer's wife. In their first stages of growth all political movements are divinely democratic. It is not until the thing has been reduced to a working formula that some boss seizes the formula and the tyrannies of monarchical methods begin.
Selah adopted the same plan of secrecy in organizingwomen's Co-Citizens' Leagues in the country neighbourhoods. This was her part of the work. She was not only beautiful in a grave and dignified fashion, she had the adorable gift of youth when it came to relating herself to elder women.
She was one of the sensations, blessing the eyes and stimulating the imagination of all travellers along country roads as she passed in her car from one neighbourhood to another. She was invariably accompanied upon these expeditions by some farmer's wife who was already an officer in some other League. She wore white linen tailored clothes and a three-cornered white turban, with a pair of white wings spread and lifted high at the back of her head, which is the one proper place for wings on a mortal. The brain of a man or woman is the only soaring part of them. Sublimated spiritual bodies may look naturally supernatural with wings attached to the breastbone or between the shoulders behind, but the fairest, most spiritual, woman would appear a trifle ludicrous with them anywhere else unless she should be dancing a ballet with no skirts on worth mentioning. Selah achieved a sort of glorified presence very grateful to the eyes of the farmers' wivesand daughters, who did not understand how much of it was due to the wings on her hat.
Her method was simple after she had made the first round of the county, visiting the women in their homes and explaining the purpose of the Co-Citizens' Leagues. Each week theSignalpublished her itinerary. She would meet the women of Possum Trot on such and such a day. She would address the Co-Citizens' League of Sugar Valley on Tuesday afternoon. She would meet with the Co-Citizens of Dry Pond on Friday afternoon—always at the schoolhouse.
In addition to this theSignalinvariably gave glowing accounts of the progress of the suffrage sentiment everywhere. There was no means of proving that theSignalwas lying. It was the only paper published in the county, and it was sent free of charge to every woman in the county. But never was there a single line reporting what transpired at any of the meetings. The Odd Fellows, who were exceedingly plentiful all over the county, were almost open books compared to the secrecy and mystery attending these meetings of their women.
It is not generally known, but nearly all farmers' wives are in favour of suffrage for women. It isnot known, because almost without exception they deny that they are if there is a man within earshot of their protestations. The patriarchal hold upon them is stronger in the country places, because the economic necessities of the situation uphold the patriarch and not his wife. She obeys, not only her husband, but the laws of the seasons with the labour of her hands.
There were at first many timid souls whom Selah Adams could not draw into her conspiracy. But these were strengthened from week to week with the amazing assurances they read in theSignal, to the effect that Jordan County was coming out of the dark ages: "Men as well as women are impatient to see their wives and mothers and daughters exercise the inalienable right of every freeborn American Citizen!" And so on and so forth.
"Who are the men?" asked every man.
Echo answered:
"Who?"
No one believed there were any such cowardly males among them, but they could not prove it. The men were growing more and more silent, partly through anxiety and partly with grim confidencethat no way could be found to force this issue of suffrage on the voters of the county. The women remained maliciously silent on this point. If they had any plan, not the most ingratiating persuasions from their nearest mankind could induce them to reveal it.
The lives of most women on remote farms are tragic beyond belief. They appear natural and commonplace only because the victims are trained in endurance, not in the vocabulary of expression. There are thousands of farmers' wives in every rural community who endure hardships undreamed of in the sweatshops of commerce. There are no laws to protect them from long hours, nor any to protect their children. They average sixteen hours a day, while the hardest working man takes at least two hours at noon in which to rest. They may complain of backache, of rheumatism, of any number of stitches in their sides, but they never complain of the long, long day's work. On the contrary, if the worst comes to worst, especially during the harvest season, they think they will get up an hour earlier the next morning and maybe "get through" what they have to do.