"Very?"
"It is hip disease."
"But—but that can be cured!" he exclaimed. "It is now perfectly curable. Why doesn't she go to Vienna or to New York——"
"She is going."
"She ought to lose no time!"
"She is going. She only learned the nature of her trouble very recently."
"You mean she has been lame all this time and didn't know what threatened her?"
"She was—too busy to ask. Finally, becauseshe did not get well, she called in a physician. But she is a very determined girl; she refused to believe what the physician told her—until—very recently——"
"See here," he said, "are you in constant communication with her?"
"Constant."
"Then tell her you know me. Tell her how terribly sorry I am. Tell—tell her that I'll do anything to—to—tell her," he burst out excitedly, "that I'll eat her plum cake if that will do her any good—or amuse her—or anything! Tell her to bake it and frost it and fill it full of glue, for all I care—and express it to you; and I'll eat every crumb of that silly speech I made——"
"Wait!" she exclaimed. "Do you realise what you're saying? Do you realise what you're offering to do for a girl—a lame girl—who is already in love with you?"
His youthful face fell.
"By gad," he said, "do you think I ought to marry her? How on earth can I when I'm—I'm dead in love with—somebody myself?"
"You—in love?" she said faintly.
He gazed across the brook at the darkening foliage.
"Oh, yes," he said with a pleasant sort of hopelessness, "but I fancy she cares for another man."
"W-why do you think so?"
"He comes to see her."
"Is that a reason?"
"She won't talk about him."
"When a woman won't talk about a man is it always because she cares for him inthatway?"
"Isn't it?"
"No."
They had lifted their heads now, facing each other in the violet dusk. Between them the scent of heliotrope grew sweeter. He said:
"I've been all kinds of a fool. For all I know women have as many rights on earth as men have. All I wish is that the plucky girl who took that hedge, banner in hand, were well and happy and married to a really decent fellow."
"But—she loves you."
"And I"—he looked up, encountering her blue eyes—"am already hopelessly in love. What shall I do?"
She said under her breath: "God knows. . . . I can not blame you for not wishing to marry a lame girl——"
"It isn't that!"
"But you wouldn't anyhow——"
"I would if I loved her!"
"Youcouldn't—love a—a cripple! It would not be love; it would be pity——"
He said slowly: "I wish thatyouwere that lame girl. Then you'd understand me."
For a while she sat bolt upright, clasped hands tightening in her lap. Then, turning slowly toward him, she said:
"I am going to say good-night. . . . And thank you—for Diana's sake. . . . And I am going to say more—I am going to say good-bye."
"Good-bye! Where are you going?"
"To New York."
"When?"
"Before I see you again."
"There is no train until——"
"I shall drive to Moss Centre."
"Where that—that doctor lives——"
"Yes. I am going to New York with him, Lord Marque."
He stood as though stunned for a moment; then set his teeth, clenched his hands, and pulled himself together.
"I think I understand," he said quietly. "And—I wish you—happiness."
She stretched out her hand to him above the heliotrope.
"I—wish it—to you——" suddenly her voice broke; again her teeth caught at her underlip like a child who struggles with emotion. "You—don'tunderstand," she said. "Wait a little while before you—come to any—unhappy—conclusions."
After a moment she made a slight effort to disengage her hand—another—then turned in her chair and dropped her head on the table, her right hand still remaining in his. Presently he released it; and she placed both hands on the edge of the table and her forehead upon them.
"I am coming in," he said.
She straightened up swiftly at his words.
"Please don't!" she said in a startled voice, still tremulous.
But he was gone from the dark window, and, frightened, she bent over, caught up her walking stick, and took one impulsive step toward the door. And stood stock still in the middle of the floor as he entered.
His eyes met hers, fell on the supporting cane; and she covered her face with her left arm, standing there motionless.
"Good God!" he breathed. "You!"
She began to cry like a child.
"I didn't want you to know," she wailed. "Oh, I didn't want you to know. I thought there was no use—no hope—until yesterday. . . . I—wanted to go to New York with the doctor and be made all sound and well again b-before—before I let you love me——"
"Oh, Diana—Diana!" he whispered, with his arms around her. "Oh, Diana—Diana—my little girl Diana!"
Which was silly enough, she being six feet—almost as tall as he.
"Turn your back," she whispered. "I want to go to my desk—and I can't bear to have you see me walk."
"You darling——"
"No, no, no! Please let them cure me first. . . . Turn your back."
He kissed her hands, held her at arm's length a second, then turned on his heel and stood motionless.
He heard her move almost noiselessly away; heard a desk open and close; heard the chair by the window move as she seated herself.
"Come here," she said in a curious, choked voice.
He turned, went swiftly to her side.
"Great heavens!" he said. "When did you bake that cake?"
"Y-yesterday."
"Why?"
"B-because I was going away to New York and would never perhaps see you again unless I was entirely cured. And I meant to leave this for you—so you would know that I had followed you even here—so you would know I had made a plucky try at you—through all these months—"
"You—you corker!"
"D-do you really mean it?"
"Mean it! I tell you, Diana, you women put it all over the lords of creation—or any lord ever created! Mean it! You bet I do, sweetness! I'll take back everything I ever said about women. They'rethereal thing in the world! And the best thing for the world is to let them run it!"
"But—dear——" she faltered, lifting her beautiful eyes to him, "if men are going to feelthatway about it, we won't want to run anything at all. . . . It was only because you wouldn't let us that we wanted to."
He said in impassioned tones:
"Let the bally world run itself, Diana. What do we care—you and I?"
"No," she said, "we don't care now."
Then that rash and infatuated young man, losing his head entirely, drew from his jeans a large jack-knife, and, before she could prevent him, he had sliced off an enormous hunk of plum cake heavily frosted with his own words.
"Don't, dear!" she begged him. "I couldn't askthatof you——"
"I will!" he said, and bit into it.
"Don't!" she begged him; "please don't! Ihaven't had much experience with pastry. It may give you dreadful dreams!"
"Let it!" he said. "What do I care for dreams while you remain real! Diana—Diana—huntress of bigger game than ever fled through the age of fable!"
And he bolted a section of frosting and began to chew vigorously upon another, while she slipped both hands into his, regarding him with tender solicitude.
"Have no fears for me, dearest," he said indistinctly; "fortified by months of pie I dread no food ever prepared by youth and beauty. Even the secret dishes of the Medici——"
"John!"
"W-what, darling?"
"After all—I don't cook so badly."
So, in the gloaming, he swallowed the last crumb and gathered her into his strong young arms, and drew her golden head down close to his.
"Take it from me," he whispered, relapsing into the noble idioms of his adopted country, "you're all to the mustard, Diana; your eats were bully and I liked 'em fine!"
Untitled illustration
Thesituation in Great Britain was becoming deplorable; the Home Secretary had been chased into the Serpentine; the Prime Minister and a dozen members of Parliament had taken permanent refuge in the vaults of the Bank of England; a vast army of suffragettes was parading the streets of London, singing, cheering, and eating bon-bons. Statues, monuments, palaces were defaced with the words "Votes for Women," and it was not an uncommon sight to see some handsome young man rushing distractedly through Piccadilly pursued by scores of fleet-footed suffragettes of the eugenic wing of their party, intent on his capture for the purposes of scientific propagation.
No young man who conformed to the standard of masculine beauty set by the eugenist suffragettes was safe any longer. Scientific marriage between perfectly healthy people was now a firmly established principle of the suffragette propaganda; they began to chase attractive young men on sight with the avowed determination of marrying them to physically qualified individuals of their own sex and party, irrespective of social or educational suitability.
This had already entailed much hardship; the young Marquis of Putney was chased through Cadogan Place, caught, taken away in a taxi, and married willy-nilly to a big, handsome, strapping girl who sold dumb-bells in the new American department store. No matter who the man might be professionally and socially, if he was young and well-built and athletic he was chased on sight and, if captured, married to some wholesome and athletic young suffragette in spite of his piteous protests.
"We will found," cried Mrs. Blinkerly Dank-some-Hankly triumphantly, "a perfect human race and teach it the immortal principles of woman'srights. So, if we can't persuade Parliament to come out for us, we'll take Parliament by the slack of its degraded trousers, some day, and throw it out!"
This terrible menace delivered in Trafalgar Square was cabled to theOutlook, which instantly issued its first extra; and New York, already in the preliminary throes of a feminine revolution, went wild.
That day the handsome young Governor of New York, attended by his ornamental young Military Secretary in full uniform, had arrived at the Waldorf-Astoria to confer with the attractive young Mayor of the metropolis concerning a bill to be introduced into the legislature, permitting the franchise to women under certain conditions. And on the same day a monster suffragette parade was scheduled.
Some provisions of the proposed measure, somehow or other, had become known to the National Federation of Women; and as the Governor, his Military Secretary, and the Mayor sat in earnest conference in a private room at the Waldorf, the most terrible riot that New York ever sawbegan on Fifth Avenue just as the head of the parade, led by the suffragette band of 100 pieces, arrived at the hotel.
The Governor, Mayor, and Secretary rushed to the windows; acres of banners waved wildly below; cheer after cheer rent the raw March atmosphere; in every direction handsome young men were fleeing, pursued by eugenists. Under their very windows the shocked politicians beheld an exceedingly good-looking youth seized by several vigorous and beautiful suffragettes, dragged into a taxi, and hurried away toward a scientific marriage, kicking and struggling. This was nothing new, alas. More than one attractive young man had already been followed and spoken to in Manhattan.
Mr. Dill, president of the Board of Aldermen, and the handsomest incumbent of the office that the city ever beheld, had been courted so persistently that, fearful of being picked up, he remained in hiding disguised as a Broadway fortune teller, where the Mayor came at intervals to consult him on pretense of having his palms read.
But now the suffragettes threw off all restraint;men, frightened and confused, were being not only spoken to on Fifth Avenue, but were being seized and forcibly conducted in taxicabs toward the marriage license bureau.
It was a very St. Bartholomew for bachelors.
"John," said the Governor to his capable young Military Secretary, "take off that uniform. I'm going to flee in disguise."
"What does your excellency expect me to flee in—dishabille?" stammered the Military Secretary.
"I don't care what you flee in," said the Governor bluntly; "but I will not have it said that the Governor of the great State of New York was seized by a dozen buxom eugenists and hurried away to become the founder of a physically and politically perfect race of politicians. Get out of those gold-laced jeans!"
"I'll flee disguised as a chambermaid," muttered the handsome, rosy-cheeked young Mayor. And he rang for one.
While the Governor and his Secretary were exchanging clothes they heard the Mayor in the hallway arguing with a large German chambermaid in an earnest and fatherly manner, punctuated by coy screams from the maid.
By and by he came back to the room, perspiring.
"I bought her clothes," he said; "she'll throw them over the transom."
The clothing arrived presently by way of the transom; the Governor and the Secretary tried to aid the Mayor to get into the various sections of clothing, but as they all were bachelors and young they naturally were not aware of the functions of the various objects scattered over the floor.
The Governor picked up a bunch of curls attached to a cup-shaped turban swirl.
"Good heavens!" he said. "The girl has scalped herself for your sake, John!"
"I bought that, too," said the Mayor, sullenly. "Do you know which way it goes on, George?"
They fixed it so that two curls fell down and dangled on either side of his Honour's nose.
Meanwhile the unfortunate Military Secretary had dressed in the top hat and cutaway of the Governor.
He said huskily, "If I can't outrun them they'll catch me and try to start raising statesmen."
"It's your duty to defend me," observed the Governor.
"Yes, with my life, but not with my p-progeny—"
"Then you'd better run faster than you've ever run in all your life," said the Governor coldly.
At that moment there came a telephone call.
"Lady at the desk to speak to the Governor," came a voice.
"Hello, who is it?" asked his excellency coyly.
"Professor Elizabeth Challis!" came a very sweet but determined voice.
At the terrible name of the new President of the National Federation of American Women the Governor jumped with nervousness. Anonymous letters had warned him that she was after him for eugenic purposes.
"What do you want?" he asked tremulously.
"In the name of the Federation I demand that you instantly destroy the draft of that infamous bill which you are preparing to rush through at Albany."
"I won't," said the Governor.
"If you don't," she said, "the committee on eugenics will seize you."
"Let 'em catch me first," he replied, boldly; and rang off.
"Now, John," he said briskly, "as soon as they catch sight of you in my top hat and cutaway they'll start for you. And I advise you to leg it if you want to remain single."
The unfortunate Military Secretary gulped with fright, buttoned his cutaway coat, crammed his top hat over his ears, and gazed fearfully out of the window, where in the avenue below the riot was still in lively progress. Terrified young men fled in every direction, pursued by vigorous and youthful beauty, while the suffragette band played and thousands of suffragettes cheered wildly.
"Isn't it awful!" groaned the Mayor, arranging the lace cap on his turban-swirl and shaking out his skirts. "The police are no use. The suffragettes kidnap the good-looking ones. Are you ready for the sortie, Governor?"
The Governor in the handsome uniform of hisMilitary Secretary adjusted his sword and put on the gold-laced cap. Then, thrusting the draft of the obnoxious bill into the bosom of his tunic, he strode from the room, followed by his Secretary and the unfortunate Mayor, who attempted in vain to avoid treading on his own trailing skirts.
"George," said the Mayor, spitting out a curl that kept persistently getting into his mouth every time he opened it, "I'll be in a pickle unless I can reach Dill's rooms. . . . Wait! There's a pin sticking into me——"
"Too late," said the Governor; "it will spur you to run all the faster. . . . Where is Dill's?"
The Mayor whispered the directions, spitting out his curl at intervals when it incommoded him; the Governor walked faster to escape.
Down in the elevator they went, gazed at by terror-stricken bell-hops and scared porters.
As the cheering and band playing grew louder and more distinct the Secretary quailed, but the Governor admonished him:
"You've simplygotto save me," he said. "Probono publico!Come on now. Make a dash for a taxi and the single life! One—two—three!"
The next moment the Secretary's top hat was carried away by a brick; the Mayor's turban-swirl went the same way, amid showers of confetti and a yell of fury from a thousand suffragettes who saw in his piteous attempt to disguise himself, by aid of a turban-swirl, an insult to womanhood the world over.
A perfect blizzard of missiles rained on the terrified politicians; the Secretary and the Mayor burst into a frantic canter up Thirty-fourth Street, pursued by a thousand strikingly handsome women. The Governor ran west.
Untitled illustration
Untitled illustration
TheGovernor of the great State of New York was now running up Broadway with his borrowed sword between his legs and his borrowed uniform covered with confetti—footing it as earnestly as though he were running behind his ticket with New York County yet to hear from.
After him sped bricks, vegetables, spot-eggs, and several exceedingly fashionable suffragettes, their perfectly gloved hands full of horsewhips, banners, and farm produce.
But his excellency was now running strongly; one by one his eager and beautiful pursuers gave up the chase and fell out, panting and flushed from the exciting and exhilarating sport, until, at Forty-second Street, only one fleet-footed young girl remained at his heels.
The order of precedence then shifted as follows: First, the young and handsome Governor running like a lost dog at a fair and clutching the draft of the obnoxious bill to his gold-laced bosom; second, one distractingly lovely young girl, big, wholesome-looking, athletic, and pink of cheeks, swinging a ci-devant cat by the tail as menacingly as David balanced the loaded sling; third, several agitated policemen whistling and rapping for assistance; fourth, the hoi polloi of the Via Blanca; fifth, a small polychromatic dog; sixth, the idle wind toying carelessly with the dust and refuse and hats and skirts of all Broadway.
"Only one fleet-footed young girl remained at his heels."
This municipal dust storm, mingling with the brooding metropolitan gasoline fog, produced a sirocco of which no Libyan desert needed to be ashamed; and it alternately blotted out and revealed the interesting Marathonian procession, until one capricious and suffocating flurry, full of whirling newspapers and derbies, completely blotted out the Governor and the young lady at his heels.
And when, a moment later, the miniature tornado had subsided into a series of playful sidewalk eddys, only the policemen, the hoi polloi, and the dog were still going; the Governor and the beautiful suffragette had completely disappeared.
They had, it is true, chosen a very good time and place for such an occult performance; Long Acre at its busiest.
Several mounted policemen had now joined in the frantic festivities. They galloped hurriedly in every direction. The crowd cheered and pursued the police, the small dog barked in eddying circles till he resembled an expiring pinwheel.
Meanwhile a curious thing had occurred; the youthful Governor was now chasing the suffragette. It occurred abruptly, and in the following manner:
No sooner had the dust cloud spread a momentary fog around the radiant young man—like a hurricane eclipse of the sun—than he dartedinto the narrow and dark hallway of an old-fashioned office building devoted to theatrical agencies, all-night lawyers, and "astrologists," and started up the stairs. But his unaccustomed sword tripped him up, and as he fell flat with a startling outcrash of accoutrements, there came a flurry of delicately perfumed skirts, the type-written papers were snatched from his gloved hands, and the perfumed skirts went scurrying away through the dusky corridor which ought to have opened on the next cross street. And didn't.
After her ran the Governor, now goaded to courage by the loss of his papers, and she, finding herself in a cul-de-sac, turned at bay, launched the cat at his head, and attempted to spring past him. But he caught the whirling feline in one white-gloved hand and barred her way with the other; and she turned once more in desperation to seek an egress which did not exist.
A flight of precipitate and rickety stairs led upward into an obscurity rendered deeper by a single gas jet burning low on the landing above.
Up this she sprang, two at a time, the young man at her heels; up, up, passing floor after floor,until a dirty skylight overhead warned her that the race was ending.
On the top corridor there was a door ajar; she sprang for it, opened it, tried to slam and lock it behind her, then, exhausted, she shrank backward into the room and sank into a red velvet chair, holding the bunch of papers tightly to her heaving breast.
There was another chair—a gilt one. Into it fell his excellency, gasping, speechless, his spurred and booted legs trailing, his borrowed uniform all over confetti and dust from his tumble on the stairs.
Minute after minute elapsed as they lay there, fighting for breath, watching each other.
She was the first to stir; and instantly he dragged himself to his feet, staggered over to the door, locked it, dropped the key into his pocket, returned to his chair, and collapsed once more.
After a few moments he glanced down at the cat which he was still clutching. A slight shiver passed over him, then, as he inspected it more closely, over his features crept an ironical smile.
For the cat was not even a ci-devant cat; ithad never been a cat; it was only an imitation of a defunct one made out of floss and chenille, like a teddy-bear; and he smiled at her scornfully and dangled it by its black and white tail.
"Pooh," he panted; "I suppose even your bricks and vegetables and eggs were cotillion favours full of confetti."
"They were," she admitted defiantly. "Which did not prevent their serving their purposes."
"As what?"
"As symbols!"
"Symbols?" he retorted in derision.
"Yes, symbols! The three most ancient symbols of an insulted people's fury—the egg, the turnip, and the cat."
"Mala gallina, malum ovum," he laughed, adjusting his sword and picking several streamers of confetti from his tunic. "Did they hurl spot-eggs in ancient Rome, fair maid?"
"They did; and cats—ex necessitate rei," she observed with composure.
"Ex nihilo felis fit—a cat-fit for nothing," he retorted, flippantly.
Half disdainfully she straightened out the slightdisorder of her own apparel, still breathing fast, and keeping tight hold of the bundle of papers.
"How soon are you going to let me have them?" he asked good-humouredly.
"Never."
"I can't permit you to leave this room until you hand them to me."
"Then I shall never leave this room."
"You certainly shall not leave it until I have those papers."
"Then I'll remain here all my life!" she said defiantly.
"What do you expect to do when the people who live here return?"
She shrugged her pretty shoulders, and presently cast an involuntary and uneasy glance around the room.
It was not a place to reassure any girl; gilt stars were pasted all over walls and ceilings, where also a tinsel sun and moon appeared. The constellations were interspersed with bats.
The remaining decorations consisted of a cozy corner, some pasteboard trophies, red cotton velvet hangings, several plaster casts of human hands,and a frieze of half-burnt cigarettes along the mantel-edge.
"Are you going to give me those papers?" he repeated, secretly amused.
"No."
"What do you expect to do with them?"
"Deliver them to Professor Elizabeth Challis, President of the National Federation of Independent Women of America."
"Is this a private enterprise of yours," he asked curiously, "or just a—a playful impulse, or the militant fruition of a vast and feminine conspiracy?"
She smiled slightly.
"I suppose you mean to be impertinent, but I shall not evade answering you, Captain Jones. I am acting under orders."
"Betty's?" he inquired, flippantly.
"The orders of Professor Elizabeth Challis," she said, with heightened colour.
"Exactly. Itisa conspiracy, then, complicated by riot, assault, disorderly conduct, and highway robbery—isn't it?"
"You may call it what you choose."
"Oh, I'll leave that to the courts."
She said disdainfully: "We recognize no laws in the making of which we have had no part."
"There's no use in discussing that," said the Governor blandly; "but I'd like to know what you suffragettes find so distasteful in that proposed bill which the Mayor and—and the Governor of New York have had drafted."
"It is reactionary—a miserable subterfuge—a treacherous attempt to return to the old order of things! A conspiracy to re-shackle, re-enslave American womanhood with the sordid chains of domestic cares! To drive her back into the kitchen, the laundry, the nursery—back into the dark ages of dependence and acquiescence and non-resistance—back into the degraded epochs of sentimental relations with the tyrant man!"
She leaned forward in her excitement and her sable boa slid back as she made a gesture with her expensive muff.
"Once," she said, "woman was so ignorant that she married for love! Now the national revolt has come. Neither sentiment nor impulse nor emotion shall ever again play any part in our relations with man!"
He said, trying to speak ironically: "That's a gay outlook, isn't it?"
"The outlook, Captain Jones, is straight into a glorious millennium. Marriage, in the future, is to mean the regeneration of the human race through cold-blooded selection in mating. Only the physically and mentally perfect will hereafter be selected as specimens for scientific propagation. All others must remain unmated—pro bono publico—and so ultimately human imperfection shall utterly disappear from this world!"
Her pretty enthusiasm, her earnestness, the delicious colour in her cheeks, began to fascinate him. Then uneasiness returned.
"Do you know," he said cautiously, "that the Governor of New York has received anonymous letters informing him that Professor Elizabeth Challis considers him a proper specimen for the—the t-t-terrible purposes of s-s-scientific p-p-propagation?"
"Some traitor in our camp," she said, "wrote those letters."
"It—it isn't true, then, is it?"
"What isn't true?"
"That the Governor of the great State of New York is in any danger of being seized for any such purpose?"
She looked at him with a curious veiled expression in her pretty eyes, as though she were near-sighted.
"I think," she said, "Professor Challis means to seize him."
The Governor gazed at her, horrified for a moment, then his political craft came to his aid, and he laughed.
"What does she look like?" he inquired. "Is she rather a tough old lady?"
"No; she's young and—athletic."
"Barrel-shaped?"
"Oh, she's as tall as the Governor is—about six feet, I believe."
"Nonsense!" he exclaimed, paling.
"Six feet," she repeated carelessly; "rowed stroke at Vassar; carried off the standing long jump, pole vault, and ten-mile swimming——"
"This—this is terrible," murmured the youngman, passing one gloved hand over his dampening brow. Then, with a desperate attempt at a smile, he leaned forward and said confidentially:
"As a matter of fact, just between you and me, the Governor is an invalid."
"Impossible!" she retorted, her clear blue eyes on his.
"Alas! It is only too true. He's got a very, very rare disease," said the young man sadly. "Promise you won't tell?"
"Y-yes," said the girl. Her face had lost some of its colour.
"Then I will confide in you," said the young man impressively. "The Governor is threatened with a serious cardiac affection, known as Lamour's disease."
She looked down, remained silent for a moment, then lifted her pure gaze to him.
"Is that true—Captain Jones?"
"As true as that I am his Military Secretary."
Her features remained expressionless, but the colour came back as though the worst of the shock were over.
"I see," she said seriously. "Professor Challisought to know of this sad condition of affairs. I have heard of Lamour's disease."
"Indeed, she ought to be told at once," he said, delighted. "You'll inform her, won't you?"
"If you wish."
"Thank you!Thankyou!" he said fervently. "You are certainly the most charmingly reasonable of your delightful sex. The Governor will be tremendously obliged to you——"
"Is the Governor—are his—his affections—to use an obsolete expression—fixed upon any particular——"
"Oh, no!" he said, smiling; "the Governor isn't in love—except—er—generally. He's a gay bird. The Governor never, in all his career, saw a single specimen of your sex which—well, which interested him as much—well, for example," he added in a burst of confidence, "as much even as you interest me!"
"Which, of course, is not at all," she said, laughing.
"Oh, no—no, not at all——" he hesitated, biting his moustache and looking at her.
"I'll tell you one thing," he said; "if the Governor ever did get entirely well—er—recovered—you know what I mean?"
"Cured of his cardiac trouble?—this disease known as Lamour's disease?"
"Exactly. If he ever did recover, he—I'm quite sure he would be——" and here he hesitated, gazing at her in silence. As for her, she had turned her head and was gazing out of the window.
"I wonder what your name is?" he said, so naïvely that the colour tinted even the tip of the small ear turned toward him.
"My name," she said, "is Mary Smith. Like you, I am Militant Secretary to Professor Elizabeth Challis, President of the Federation of American Women."
"I hope we will remain on pleasant terms," he ventured.
"I hope so, Captain Jones."
"Non-combatants?"
"I trust so."
"Even f-friends?"
She bent her distractingly pretty head in acquiescence.
"Then you'll give me back the papers?"
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry for taking them?"
"No, sorry for keeping them."
"You don't mean to say that you are going to keep them, Miss Smith?"
"I'm afraid I must. My duty forces me to deliver them to Professor Challis."
"But why does this terrible and strapping young lady desire to swipe the draft of this bill?"
"Because it contains the evidence of a wicked conspiracy between the Governor of New York, the Mayor of this city, and an abandoned legislature. The women of America ought to know what threatens them before this bill is perfected and introduced. And before they will permit it to be debated and passed they are determined to march on Albany, half a million strong, as did the heroines of Versailles!"
She stretched out her white gloved hand with an excited but graceful gesture; he eyed her moodily, swinging the chenille cat by its fluffy tail.
"What do they suspect is in that bill?" he said at last.
"We are not yet perfectly sure. We believe it is an insidious attempt to sow dissension in the ranks of our sex—a bill cunningly devised to create jealousy and unworthy distrust among us—an ingenious and inhuman conspiracy to disorganize the National Federation of Free and Independent Women."
"Nonsense," he said. "The bill, when perfected, is designed to give you what you want."
"What!"
"Certainly; votes for women."
"On what terms?" she asked, incredulously.
"Terms? Oh, no particular terms. I wouldn't call them 'terms,'" he said craftily; "that sounds like masculine dictation."
"It certainly does."
"Of course. There are no terms in it. It's a—a sort of a civil service idea—a kind of a qualification for the franchise——"
"Oh!"
"Yes," he continued pleasantly, "it a—er—suggests that a vote be accorded to any woman who, in competition with others of that election district, passes the examinations——"
"Whatexaminations?"
He twirled the cat carelessly.
"Oh, the examination papers are on various subjects. One is chemistry."
"Chemistry?"
"Yes—that part of organic chemistry which includes the scientific preparation of—er—food."
Her eyes flashed; he twirled the cat absently.
"Yes," he said, "chemistry is one of the subjects. Physics is another—physical phenomena."
"What kind?"
"Oh, the—the proposition that nature abhors a vacuum. You're to prove it—you're given a certain area—say a bed-room full of dust. Then you apply to it——"
"I see," she said; "you mean we apply to it a vacuum cleaner, don't you?"
"Or," he admitted courteously, "you may solve it through the science of dynamics——"
"Of course—using a broom." Her eyes were beautiful but frosty.
"Do you know," he said, as pleasantly as he dared, "that you, for instance, would be sure to pass."
"Because I'm intelligent enough to comprehend the subtleties of this—bill?"
"Exactly." He swung the cat in a circle.
"Thank you. And what else do these examination papers contain?"
"Physics mostly—the properties of solid bodies. For example, you choose a button—any ordinary button," he explained frankly, as though taking her into his confidence; "say, for instance, the plain bone button of commerce——"
"And sew it onto some masculine shirt," she nodded as he sank back apparently overcome with admiration at her intelligence. "And that," she added, "no doubt is intended to illustrate the phenomenon of adhesion."
"You are perfectly correct," he said with enthusiasm.
"What else is there?" she asked.
"Oh, nothing—nothing very much. A few experiments in bacteriology——"
"Sterilizing nursing bottles?"
"How on earth did you ever guess?" he cried, overwhelmed, but perfectly alert to the kindling anger in her blue eyes. "Why, of course that isit. It is included in the science of embryotics—"
"What science?"
"Embryotics. For instance, you take an embryo of any kind—say a—a baby. Then you show exactly how to dress, undress, wash, feed, and finally bring that baby to triumphant maturity. It's interesting, isn't it, Miss Smith?"
She said nothing. He twirled the cat furiously until its tail gave way and it flew into a corner.
"Captain Jones," she said, "as I understand it, this bill is a codified conspiracy to turn every woman of this State into a—a washer of clothes, a cleaner of floors, a bearer of children—and a Haus-frau!"
"I—I would not put itthatway," he protested.
"And her reward," she went on, not noticing his interruption, "is permission to vote—to use the inalienable liberty with which already Heaven has endowed her."
Tears flashed in her eyes; she held her small head proudly and not one fell.
"Captain Jones," she said, "do you realize what centuries of suppression are doing to my sex? Do you understand that woman is degenerating intoan immobility—an inertia—a molluskular condition of receptive passivity which is rendering us, year by year, more unfitted to either think or act for ourselves? Even in the matter of marriage we are not permitted by custom to assume the initiative. We may only shake our heads until the man we are inclined toward asks us, when he is entirely ready to ask. Then, like a row of Chinese dolls, we nod our heads. I tell you," she said, tremulously, "we are becoming like that horrid, degenerate, wingless moth which is born, mates, and dies in one spot—a living mechanical incubator—a poor, deformed, senseless thing that has through generations lost not only the use, but even the rudiments of the wings which she once possessed. But the male moth flies more strongly and frivolously than ever. There is nothing the matter with the development ofhiswings, Captain Jones."
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Itwas now growing rather dark in the room.
"I'm terribly sorry you feel this way," he said.
She had averted her eyes and was now seated, chin in hand, looking out of the window.
"Do you know," he said, "this is a rotten condition of affairs."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"This attitude of women."
"Is it more odious than the attitude of men?"
"After all," he said, "man is born with the biceps. He was made to do the fighting."
"Not all of the intellectual fighting."
"No, of course not. But—you don't want him to rock the cradle, do you?"
"Cradles are no longer rocked, Captain Jones. I don't thinkyouwould be qualified to pass this examination with which you menace us."
He began to be interested. She turned from the window, saw he was interested, hesitated, then:
"I wish I could talk to you—to such a man as you seem to be—sensibly, without rancour, without personal enmity or prejudice——"
"Can't you?"
"Why, yes.Ican. But—I am not sure whatyourattitude——"
"It is friendly," he said, looking at her. "I am perfectly hap—I mean willing to listen to you. Only, sooner or later, you must return to me those papers."
"Why?"
"The Governor entrusted them to me officially——"
She said smiling: "But you—your Governor I mean—can frame another similar bill."
"I'm a soldier in uniform," he said dramatically. "My duty is to guard those papers with my life!"
"I am a soldier, too," she said proudly, "in the Army of Human Progress."
"Very well," he said, "if you regard it that way."
"I do. Only brute violence can deprive me of these papers."
"That," he said, "is out of the question."
"It is no more shameful than the mental violence to which you have subjected us through centuries. Anyway, you're not strong enough to get them from me."
"Do you expect me to seize you and twist your arm until you drop those papers?"
"You can never have them otherwise. Try it!"
He sat silent for a while, alternately twisting his moustache and the cat's tail. Presently he flung the latter away, rose, inspected the stars on the wall, and then began to pace to and fro, his gloved hands behind his back, spurs and sword clanking.
"It's getting late," he said as he passed her. Continuing his promenade he added as he passedher again. "I've had no luncheon. Have you?"
He poked around the room, examining the fantastic furnishings in all their magnificence of cotton velvet and red cheesecloth.
"If this is Dill's room it's a horrible place," he thought to himself, sitting down by a table and shuffling a pack of cards.
"Shall I cast your horoscope?" he asked amiably. "Here's a chart."
"No, thank you."
Presently he said: "It's getting beastly cold in this room."
"Really!" she murmured.
He came back and sat down in the gilded chair. It was now so dusky in the room that he couldn't see her very plainly.
So he folded his arms and abandoned himself to gloomy patience until the room became very dark. Then he got up, struck a match, and lighted the gas.
"By Jupiter!" he muttered, "I'm hungry."
For nearly five minutes she let the remark go apparently unnoticed. But the complaint he had made is the one general and comprehensive appealthat no woman ever born can altogether ignore. In the depths of her something always responds, however faintly. And in the soul of this young girl it was answering now—the subtle, occult response of woman to the eternal and endless need of man—hunger of one kind or another.
"I'm sorry," she said, so sincerely that the sweetness in her voice startled him.
"Why—why, do you know I believe you really are!" he said in grateful surprise.
"I am a great many things that you have no idea I am," she said, smiling.
"What is one of them?"
"I'm afraid I'm a—a fool."
She came forward and stood looking at him.
"I've been thinking," she said, "that I can do you no kinder service than to destroy those papers and let you go home."
For a moment he thought she was joking, then something in her expression changed his opinion and he took a step forward, eyes fixed on her face.
"Yes," he said, "it would be the kindest thing you can do for me. Shall I tell you why? It's because I'm hopelessly near-sighted. I wearglasses when I'm alone in my study, where nobody can see me."
"What in the world hasthatto do with my leaving you?" she asked, colouring up.
"Suffragettes would never marry a near-sighted man, would they?"
"They ought not to."
"Youwouldn't, would you?"
"Why do you ask—such a thing?"
"I want to know."
"But how does your myopia concernme?" she said faintly.
"Couldn'tit—ever?" he asked, reddening.
"No," she said, turning pale.
"Then we'd better not stay here; and I'm going to be as generous as you are," he said, advancing toward her. "I'm going to let you go home."
She backed away, thrusting the papers behind her; his arm slipped around her, after them, strove to grasp them, to hold and restrain her, but there was a strength in her tall, firm young body which matched his own; she resisted, turned, twisted, confronted him with high colour, and lips compressed,and they came to a deadlock, breathing fast and irregularly.
Again, coolly, dexterously, he pitted his adroitness, then his sheer strength against hers; and it came again to a deadlock.
Suddenly she crook'd one smooth knee inside of his; her arms slid around him like lightning; he felt himself rising into the air, descending—there came a crash, a magnificent display of ocular fireworks, and nothing further concerned him until he discovered himself lying flat on the floor and heard somebody sobbing incoherencies beside him.
He was mean enough to keep his eyes shut while she, on her knees beside him, slopped water on his forehead and begged him to speak to her, and told him her heart was broken and she desired to die and repose in mortuary simplicity beside him forever.
Certain terms she employed in addressing what she feared were only his mortal remains caused him to prick up his ears. He certainly was one of the meanest of men.
"Dear," she sobbed, "I—I have l-loved you eversince your lithographs were displayed during the election! Only speak to me! Only open those beloved eyes! I don't care whether they are near-sighted! Oh, please, please wake up!" she cried brokenly. "I'll give you back your papers. What do I care about that old bill? I'm p-perfectly willing to do all those things! Oh, oh, oh! How conscience does make Haus-fraus of us all!"
His meanness now became contemptible; he felt her trembling hands on his brow; the fragrant, tearful face nearer, nearer, until her hot, flushed cheeks and quivering lips touched his. And yet, incredible as it seems, and to the everlasting shame of all his sex, he kept eyes and mouth shut until a lively knocking on the door brought him bolt upright.
She uttered a little cry and shrank away from him on her knees, the tears glimmering in her startled and wide open eyes.
"Good heavens, darling!" he said seriously; "how on earth are we going to explain this?"
They scrambled hastily to their feet and gazed at each other while kicks and blows began to rain on the door.
"I believe it's Dill," he whispered; "and I seem to hear the Mayor's voice, too."
"Help! Help! For heaven's sake!" screamed the Mayor, "let us in, George! There's a mob of suffragettes coming up the stairs!"
The Governor unlocked the door and jerked it open, just as several unusually beautiful girls seized Mr. Dill and the Military Secretary.
The Mayor, however, rushed blindly into the room, his turban-swirl was over one eye, his skirt was missing, his apron hung by one pin.
He ran headlong for a sofa and tried to scramble under it, but lovely and vigorous arms seized his shins and drew him triumphantly forth.
"Hurrah!" they cried delightedly, "we have carried the entire ticket!"
"Hurrah!" echoed a sweet but tremulous voice, and a firm young arm was slipped through the Governor's.
He turned to meet her beautiful, level gaze.
"Check!" she said.
"Make it check-mate," he said steadily.
"Mateyou?"
"Will you?"
She bent her superb head a moment, then lifted her splendid eyes to his.
"Of course I will," she said, as steadily as her quickening heart permitted. "Why do you suppose I ran after you?"
"Why?" whispered that infatuated man.
"Because," she said, naïvely, "I was afraid some other girl would get you. . . . A girl never can be sure what another girl might do to a man. . . . And I wanted you for myself."
"Thank God," he said, "that six-foot Professor Challis will never get me, anyway."
She bent her adorable face close to his.
"Your excellency," she murmured, "Iam Professor Challis!"
At that instant a pretty and excited suffragette dashed up the stairs and saluted.
"Professor," she cried, "all over the city desirable young men are being pursued and married by the thousands! We have swept the State, with Brooklyn and West Point yet to hear from!" Her glance fell upon the Governor; she laughed glee-fully.
"Shall I call a taxi, Professor?" she asked.
An exquisite and modest pride transformed the features of Professor Betty Challis to a beauty almost celestial.
"Let George do it," she said tenderly.
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A fewminutes later, amid a hideous scene of riot, where young men were fleeing distractedly in every direction, where excited young girls were dragging them, struggling and screaming, into cabs, where even the police were rushing hither and thither in desperate search for a place to hide in, the Governor of New York and Professor Elizabeth Challis might have been seen whirling downtown in a taxicab toward the marriage license bureau.
Her golden head lay close to his; his moustache rested against her delicately flushed cheek. A moment later she sat up straight in dire consternation.
"Oh, those papers! The draft of the bill!" she exclaimed. "Where is it?"
"Did you want it, Betty?" he asked, surprised.
"Why—why, no. Didn't you want it, George?"
"I? Not at all."
"Then why on earth did you keep me imprisoned in that room so long if you didn't want those papers?"
He said slowly: "Why didn't you give them up to me ifyoudidn't really want them, Betty?"
She shook her pretty head. "I don't know. . . . But I'm afraid it was only partly obstinacy."
"It was only partly that with me," he said.
They smiled.
"I just wanted to detain you, I suppose," he admitted.
"George, you wouldn't expect me to match that horrid confession—would you?"
"No, I wouldn't ask it of you."
He laid his cheek against hers and whispered:"Darling, do you think our great love justifies our concealing my myopia?"
"George," she murmured, "I think it does. . . . Besides, I'm dreadfully near-sighted myself."
"You!"
"Dear, every one of us has gotsomethingthe matter with her. Miss Vining, who caught the Mayor, wears a rat herself. . . . Do you mean to say that men believe there ever was a perfect woman?"
He kissed her slowly. "Ibelieve it," he said.
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