WOMEN FOR VOTES
Women for Votes
By
Elizabeth Hughes
[Illustration: Publisher colophon]
New York
E. P. Dutton & Company
1912
COPYRIGHT, 1912
BY
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
A FARCE IN THREE ACTS
_Persons of the Play_:
GEORGE TILSBURY.
JOSEPHINE TILSBURY, _his wife_.
MILDRED TILSBURY, _his daughter by a former marriage_.
IMOGENE BROWN, }
EDWARD MELVIN, } _Friends of the Tilsburys_.
HORACE VAN TOUSEL, }
THEODORE BECKER, }
MARY HENRIETTA THOM, _a leader of the Women Suffragists_.
SOPHIE SLAVINSKY, _a minor partisan_.
KATY, _the parlormaid at the Tilsburys’_.
HELMA, _the cook at the Tilsburys’_.
COCHON, _Mrs. Brown’s pet pig with his ears trimmed and wearing
an elaborate blanket_.
Time: the present. The action of the play takes place in the City
of New York during a week in November.
WOMEN FOR VOTES
ACT I
_The drawing-room at the Tilsburys’ house in the City of
New York, tastefully arranged, with a door at each end
and a sofa against the wall, over which hangs a beautiful
full-length portrait of the first Mrs. Tilsbury. When the
curtain rises_, MRS. BROWN _is seen seated in an easy
chair, turning over the pages of a magazine, while_ COCHON
_is asleep on the floor beside her. Enter_ MRS. TILSBURY
_with her hat on, a contrast to_ MRS. BROWN _who is in
dinner dress_.
MRS. BROWN. (_Looking up as_ MRS. TILSBURY _enters_.) Well, was the
meeting a success?
MRS. TILSBURY. Oh, a huge success. We were told of all sorts of
horrors. Only fancy, Imogene, until 1857—or was it 1858? well,
it doesn’t matter which—women were not allowed to testify on the
witness stand about their husbands’ pedigrees.
MRS. BROWN. Why did they want to testify about their husbands’
pedigrees? If it were about their husbands’ descendants now, a
second family _sub rosa_, there might be something in it. They
might testify about their pets’ pedigrees might they not? I would
be permitted to tell all about your pedigree on a horrid old
witness stand, wouldn’t I little tootsie-wootsie-tootsie? (_Takes
up pig and caresses it._)
MRS. TILSBURY. I don’t know, I am sure, why they should want to.
The only time I ever took any interest in my husband’s pedigree was
when I wanted to join the Society of Colonial Caudlers, and then I
was told that my husband’s ancestors did not count, but that I must
stand on my own.
MRS. BROWN. Stand on your own! Could you find their graves?
MRS. TILSBURY. No, that was the trouble. I haven’t any ancestors.
I wouldn’t have wanted to use my husband’s if I had had any of my
own, but it wasn’t any use.
MRS. BROWN. Well, if that is all they said at the meeting I think I
passed a more profitable afternoon. See this purse that I won as a
prize at the Bridge party.
MRS. TILSBURY. O, what a beauty! I do wish I could have gone. It is
just what I want. Generally, Bridge prizes are some old thing that
go from house to house as rapidly as a servant girl. Those tiresome
suffrage meetings take up all my time. I never have a chance to do
anything I like.
MRS. BROWN. Why do you go to them? I never do. I don’t want to
vote, there are so many other things that are more amusing.
MRS. TILSBURY. I go with Mildred, she is so interested in Woman’s
Suffrage.
MRS. BROWN. Well, you are a good—I don’t even like to say the word.
It would be such a misnomer in your case.
MRS. TILSBURY. Stepmother, you mean. Oh, you needn’t mind saying
it. I would be constantly reminded of it by that (_looks up at
portrait over sofa_) even if it were not for other things.
MRS. BROWN. Yes, that too. It is so magnanimous of you to hang it
there, to give such prominence to the first Mrs. Tilsbury.
MRS. TILSBURY. I suppose it is more respectable to succeed a wife
who is dead than one who is divorced.
MRS. BROWN. Oh, by all means. Dead women tell no lies, nor the
truth either, and sometimes divorcées delight in telling tales
about their first husbands’ second wives. But, tell me, why do you
take the trouble to go to all these tiresome meetings when you
might be enjoying yourself? Can’t Mildred go alone or with some
friend?
MRS. TILSBURY. Well, I suppose it is no harder way of making
a living than any other. I was an artist before I married Mr.
Tilsbury. My father lost all his money in the panic of 1893 and I
had to do something to help mother.
MRS. BROWN. Making a living? You don’t mean to tell me that the
Women Suffragists are forced to pay their audiences to make them
come to the meetings?
MRS. TILSBURY. Oh, no! Not that of course; but I suppose I might as
well make a clean breast of it, particularly as I want you to help
me!
MRS. BROWN. Yes, do. I should love to help you. You have always
been so kind to me. What do you want me to do?
MRS. TILSBURY. It’s this way, you see. Mildred’s mother had all
the money. George never had a cent of his own and he always spent
whatever he could lay his hands on, so when Mrs. Tilsbury died
she left a will bequeathing everything to Mildred except that
old portrait there, which she gave to George as a token of her
affection, and to show that she did not bear him any ill-will.
The property is to belong to Mildred absolutely when she is
twenty-five, or when she marries, if she should marry younger.
Until either of these events happen, the estate is to be held in
trust. The trustee appointed by Mrs. Tilsbury died a few days after
she did, and George as Mildred’s father and nearest friend was made
trustee. See?
MRS. BROWN. Yes. How clever you are. You talk just like a lawyer.
MRS. TILSBURY. Oh, my dear! I have heard it talked over so often
that I have learned it by heart, but when I repeat those phrases, I
feel just as if I had tight boots on. I am so glad to take them off
and talk naturally again.
MRS. BROWN. I don’t see what all this has to do with Woman’s
Suffrage. Did Mrs. Tilsbury make it a condition in her will that
Mildred should be brought up to support “votes for women”?
MRS. TILSBURY. No, but when George first proposed to me, he told me
all about the will, and said that it would be my duty if I married
him to keep Mildred from marrying. He said that if she could be
made to take an interest in other things and not marry until she
was twenty-five, she would not be likely to marry at all, but would
probably continue to live with us and leave the money in his hands;
that it ran in the family to marry early or not at all, that two
of her aunts had eloped when in their teens, and that the others
were all old maids. Sometimes I think that George only married me
so as to have some one to look after Mildred. A paid chaperone
would not have the same interest at stake. She would only have her
salary and Mildred might pension her if she married, but George and
I are utterly dependent on that young girl.
MRS. BROWN. Oh, don’t say that. Everybody knows how much George was
in love with you. Why, he was positively foolish. It was to keep
Mildred from marrying, then, that you influenced her to take part
in the cause of Woman’s Suffrage?
MRS. TILSBURY. Yes, George and I talked it over and we decided that
that would be the most absorbing interest for her. You see the
speakers tell such awful stories about men, and the inequality of
men and women before the law, and the dreadful laws against married
women, that no self-respecting girl who heard them would want to
talk to a man hardly, much less dare to marry one.
MRS. BROWN. Mildred made a speech this afternoon didn’t she?
MRS. TILSBURY. Yes, her first one, and she has been so busy and
interested in writing it that she hasn’t given a thought to the
other sex except to denounce their vices.
MRS. BROWN. You have just returned from the meeting now. What a
long one it must have been.
MRS. TILSBURY. Endless; and then the ladies insisted upon Mildred’s
waiting afterwards for congratulations and a cup of tea.
MRS. BROWN. You want me to help you, you say, but really, I have
no time to go to these meetings. My time is so taken up. There is
to-day for example. This morning I had my Auction Bridge class from
nine until eleven, and that is most exhausting. The teacher keeps
saying “ladies concentrate” just when I am concentrating on what
stunning hands he has and so beautifully manicured.
MRS. TILSBURY. My dear, I knew a woman once—you would know her,
too, if I told you her name—who fell so in love with an actor that
she studied manicuring, found out where he went to be manicured,
and got a job there just to hold his hand an hour every two or
three days!
MRS. BROWN. Some women are so silly! What was I saying? Oh, yes,
after the Bridge class, I went to the Chansons de Chiffons, and
I wish you could have seen Mme. Duffoird who sang. Those opera
singers never know how to dress, that is why they always want to be
Brunhildas and Carmens. Why, in all the times I have gone to the
opera, I have never obtained a fresh idea!
MRS. TILSBURY. I saw rather a pretty gown in _Sappho_ once.
Cavalieri wore it. That’s a modern opera.
MRS. BROWN. Oh, I saw that. It looked as if it were made in
Germany. Well, as I was saying, from the concert, I went to a
luncheon, then to the Bridge party, and now I am here for dinner.
I have not even had the time to give Cochon the air. Mother
didn’t even have time to take her little pet walking, did she
tootsie-wootsie-tootsie? That’s why I brought him here to-night.
Your rooms are bigger than mine and he has more space to run around
in.
MRS. TILSBURY. Oh, I didn’t intend to ask you to go to meetings.
I have been obliged to give up so much to go to them myself that
I would not ask it of any one else. It has been very hard. I was
asked to be a manager in the “Unseen Blushers” and I had to refuse
because I hadn’t the time.
MRS. BROWN. “The Unseen Blushers”? Oh, that’s the new artistic,
musical, and literary society, isn’t it?—but why do they call it by
such an odd name? I thought blushes were made to be seen. They are
so becoming. I have always wondered that no one has ever invented a
rouge that could be turned off and on like an electric light before
and after a kiss. There are so many clever inventions nowadays.
MRS. TILSBURY. Oh, not that kind of a blush. “Full many a flower is
born to blush unseen,” you know. It means to blossom I think. This
society is for the discovery of hidden genius. The old theory was
that men and women of genius rose to the top as naturally as cream
rises and that they produced their works of art as unconcernedly as
a hen hatches her eggs, but now the psychologists and physicists
believe in aiding nature. They find that they can get more cream by
means of a separator, that it is all through the milk and needs to
be forced out, and that incubators can hatch eggs better than hens.
So this society has been formed to encourage artistic, musical, and
literary talent that is hard to discover and is unable to find its
way to the surface. You understand!
MRS. BROWN. I don’t! It is all Greek to me, but you are so clever,
Josephine. Tell me about your art.
MRS. TILSBURY. I have been forced to give it all up because of
Mildred, and my last picture was such a success too. It received
the third prize in the impressionist class. It was a painting of a
street cleaner—a White Wing. I got the idea from a cup of chocolate
I upset. The whipped cream made almost all the figure, the white
uniform, you know, and then a few drops of chocolate looked like
the bronzed face of a swarthy Italian. I just copied the spill
exactly. Near by the thick white paint looked precisely like the
whipped cream, but if you stood six yards away every one said it
looked just like a street sweeper bending over with his broom to
sweep up the dust.
MRS. BROWN. How beautiful, and what an original idea!
MRS. TILSBURY. Yes, that is what everybody said. Nowadays, when
there is so much interest taken in the Traffic Squad of police
and the firemen, the men who save lives in a conspicuous and
sensational manner, and every one wants to reward them and paint
them and sculpture them and their horses, no one remembers the
humble life-savers who protect us from deadly diseases and
pestilences by keeping the streets clean. One woman wrote a poem
about my picture, beginning, “Germ gatherer grovelling in the
gritty gravel.” It was charming. It is published in the _Unseen
Blushers Review_. I will send you a copy.
MRS. BROWN. Please do. I should love to have it and a photograph of
your painting too.
MRS. TILSBURY. I will remember. Yes, my whole career was just
beginning when I had to give it all up to follow Mildred around to
Woman’s Suffrage meetings only because there is more money in it.
What does the artistic woman want of a vote? Art has always been
open to both sexes, and the Unseen Blushers include both men and
women.
MRS. BROWN. It is very hard on you when you have so much talent to
leave it all unused, but since you don’t want me to go to meetings,
what assistance can I be to you?
MRS. TILSBURY. I know you were very unhappy in your married life,
and I want you to tell Mildred all about it.
MRS. BROWN. (_Indignantly._) Really, Josephine, there are some
things that one doesn’t talk about to a child.
MRS. TILSBURY. Mildred is eighteen, and the men are after her
already. You have no idea what men will do to get a little money.
MRS. BROWN. I cannot lay bare the secrets of my married life.
Besides, I don’t know but I might marry again. My experience was in
some ways unfortunate to be sure, but one swallow doesn’t make a
summer, nor one man matrimony.
MRS. TILSBURY. One man doesn’t make matrimony! To hear you,
Imogene, one would think you were—not a Mormon but the other thing;
what is it they call it?—oh, yes, I remember, a polyanthus.
MRS. BROWN. I did not mean more than one husband at a time. I meant
that if a woman is unfortunate in her first choice and is left a
widow, she might from her increased experience be able to select a
second husband better. It is very lonesome to be a widow. It is
all very well in the daytime when the men are down-town but the
evenings are so long. There are so many jokes about widows that a
man is afraid to be left alone with one. If I should talk a lot
against marriage and then suddenly marry again, my inconsistency
would do more harm to your cause than if I should keep silence in
the first place.
MRS. TILSBURY. I don’t know about that. I used to have a beau when
I was a girl who always kept repeating, “Inconsistency, thy name is
woman.” He said it so often that I have never been able to forget
it since.
MRS. BROWN. How is any one to know I want to marry again if I talk
against matrimony? The men will all fly from me. No, Josephine, I
must say how lonely I am and how nice it is to have a man come home
at five o’clock and to make him comfy beside the fire, and how I
love the odor of a cigar, and how strong men are beside us weak
women, and that I wish I had some one to help me with my business
which I find so difficult to understand. No, I can’t run down men
to Mildred like a peevish old maid or a disappointed wife even to
help you.
MRS. TILSBURY. But every one knows how jealous your husband was of
you.
MRS. BROWN. Well, I worked awfully hard to make him so. I don’t
think I will stay for dinner, Josephine, after all. You are too
personal to-day. (_Rises to go._)
MRS. TILSBURY. Don’t be peeved, Imogene; stay, and talk about
whatever you choose. If you would only help me it would be to your
advantage if you really are thinking about marrying again. You
would meet ever so many men here. They are indeed like flies about
a honey pot.
MRS. BROWN. Fortune hunters! I am not looking for that kind. I need
to find a snug little fortune myself. You know Mr. Brown left me
his money only on condition that I did not marry again.
MRS. TILSBURY. Yes, I know, dear. He was always very jealous. You
should tell Mildred about that will.
MRS. BROWN. And be rewarded by being shown off to her fortune
hunters.
MRS. TILSBURY. Some of them have money.
MRS. BROWN. Yes, and want more to add to it. I know that sort. A
man without a cent might marry a poor girl and work for her, but a
man with a little money wants to gather in a little more when he
marries, just like an old china collector.
MRS. TILSBURY. There are exceptions.
MRS. BROWN. The men who want to control their wives through their
purse. Don’t think the exception improves the rule, Josephine.
MRS. TILSBURY. You are almost as bitter against men as the
suffragists.
MRS. BROWN. Oh, no. I like men, only I know the faults of some of
them. Who is coming here to-night?
MRS. TILSBURY. A Mr. Becker and a Mr. Van Tousel. They have both
been rushing Mildred for the last three weeks, but fortunately she
has been so interested in her speech that she has hardly noticed
them.
MRS. BROWN. Why did you ask them to dinner?
MRS. TILSBURY. Mr. Van Tousel fairly asked himself. His attentions
to Mildred have been so costly that I could not refuse him when
he suggested coming after the meeting this afternoon, and then I
invited Mr. Becker so that we might play Bridge and protect Mildred
from a tête-à-tête.
MRS. BROWN. What are they like?
MRS. TILSBURY. Mr. Becker is a lawyer, and Mr. Van Tousel is old
family.
MRS. BROWN. Does he find it lucrative?
MRS. TILSBURY. Find what lucrative?
MRS. BROWN. Being old family?
MRS. TILSBURY. Well, it furnishes him with conversation. That is
something in these days.
MRS. BROWN. He must be an awful bore. What about Mr. Becker?
MRS. TILSBURY. I told you he is a lawyer.
MRS. BROWN. That is not very descriptive.
MRS. TILSBURY. It is in his case. George says that points of
law are sticking out all over him so that he is as prickly as a
hedgehog.
MRS. BROWN. Where does he come from?
MRS. TILSBURY. From up state somewhere. He is a rising man.
MRS. BROWN. I have met so many rising men but they never seem to
arrive. They remind me of an elevator that gets stuck between
floors.
MRS. TILSBURY. Without any passengers on board, I hope.
MRS. BROWN. Oh, they usually are weighted down with a family.
MRS. TILSBURY. Mr. Becker is a bachelor and George says he is
making a very good income.
MRS. BROWN. Well, that is satisfactory. There is the door-bell now.
MRS. TILSBURY. So you see, Imogene, both of these men are
exceptions to your remarks.
KATY. (_Announcing._) Mr. Van Tousel!
MRS. TILSBURY. Oh, Mr. Van Tousel! I was just thinking of you and
saying to Mrs. Brown that there are some men who are exceptions to
the common run of selfish, self-centred New York men and that you
were one of these exceptions. Mr. Van Tousel is so broad-minded. He
believes in “the cause.”
MRS. BROWN. Indeed!
MR. VAN TOUSEL. I think it is a disgrace, madam, to ask women to
pay taxes, to contribute their share to the maintenance of the
government, and then to refuse them a single vote in the management
of that same government.
MRS. TILSBURY. Isn’t he generous!
MRS. BROWN. (_In a low voice._) People generally are with what
isn’t their own.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. How is Miss Mildred? I was at the meeting this
afternoon and saw her sitting on the platform. What a noble sight
it is to see a beautiful young girl, far removed from the struggle
for existence, take up the cause of her less fortunate sisters.
MRS. BROWN. I thought from what you just said that you believed
only taxpayers ought to vote. Of course, you know Mildred pays
large taxes.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. Oh, Mrs. Brown, how could you so misunderstand me!
I believe in the franchise for all women.
MRS. TILSBURY. Here is Mildred now. She went to change her gown for
dinner, but we were so late in returning from the meeting that Mrs.
Brown was already here, and so I did not take the time to change
mine. I hope you will both excuse me.
(_Mildred enters._)
MRS. BROWN. You look charming, Josephine, as you always do. How do
you do, Mildred?
MILDRED. How do you do, Mrs. Brown. How do you do, Mr. Van Tousel?
(_Shakes hands with both, and then turns towards the pig._) How is
Cochon?
MRS. BROWN. He has been alone all day, poor little beastie. That is
why I brought him here to-night.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. Ah, Mrs. Brown, what a dear little dog. What breed
is he, may I ask?
MRS. BROWN. Pig, Mr. Van Tousel, common pig.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. Do you mean to say he is only a pig?
MRS. BROWN. Yes, it is the fashion to be original at present, you
know, and to be original in dogs nowadays is so expensive. One has
to get an animal from the Summer Palace of the Empress of China or
the kennels of some royal prince, so I thought I would be original
in making a pet of a pig. I am the first woman in New York to start
the idea. The reporters from all the newspapers would be after me
for an interview if it were generally known, but I am obliged to
keep it a secret because there is an old law against keeping pigs
in New York City. They used to be employed as scavengers, then they
became so numerous that this law was passed. I can’t take Cochon
out in the daytime, except in a motor car, for fear I shall be
arrested, although he looks exactly like a little dog with his
blanket on, except for his snout.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. Yes, I thought of course he was a dog.
MRS. BROWN. The police are so disagreeable that one has to be very
careful. Only the other day when I was late for a Bridge party,
and I had offered the chauffeur of the taxicab double fare to get
me there in time, a perfectly horrid officer arrested him and
insisted upon taking off both the driver and the cab to the station
house, although I explained everything to him and that it was most
important for me to arrive in time because it was a club party and
every table was to play against the room for a prize in money. All
he said was, “Madam, you can walk.”
MRS. TILSBURY. That was because women have no vote, no influence.
If you had been a man, he would not have dared to make you late for
an important engagement.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. Quite true.
MILDRED. I don’t believe the policeman saw whether the chauffeur
had a man or a woman passenger when he arrested him, Mrs. Brown,
but of course as a rule a vote does give a man the advantage.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. How wonderfully you reason, Miss Mildred!
KATY. (_Announcing._) Miss Slavinsky!
(_Sophie enters._)
MILDRED. How do you do, Sophie.
SOPHIE. Oh, Mildred, I am afraid that I have come at a very bad
time, just when you have all these grand folks here, but I ran in
right after supper, because I do not like to be out late. The cops
pinch women down our way, you know, when they are out alone too
late (_looks up at_ MR. VAN TOUSEL), and I had to see you
to-night because Mrs. Thom asked me to tell you that you have been
chosen out of ever so many, as the most popular girl, to carry the
banners of our Society in the Parade to-morrow.
MILDRED. That was very kind of the ladies. Where is the banner?
SOPHIE. I could not bring it with me. It is very heavy and it
would make me look strange to carry it in the streets. The bad
little boys would say, “Where did you get the barber’s pole, Miss?”
I thought you would send for it to the Society’s rooms in your
beautiful automobile.
MILDRED. Yes, certainly. I’ll send the first thing in the morning.
Let me introduce you to my stepmother, Mrs. Tilsbury, and this
is Mrs. Brown and Mr. Van Tousel. We are all interested in the
enfranchisement of women. You are among friends.
SOPHIE. A gentleman who cares for our cause! Oh, that is great, as
you Americans say. If we had many more like him, we would be voting
just like the men. I am proud to shake your hand, Mr. Van Tousel.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. Thank you, Miss Slavinsky. Any friend of Miss
Tilsbury is a friend of mine.
SOPHIE. She is indeed a wonder. To leave this beautiful home and
her grand friends just to help us poor working girls to get our
rights!
MRS. BROWN. What work do you do, Miss Slavinsky?
SOPHIE. I am an usheress.
MRS. BROWN. A what?
SOPHIE. An usheress, a lady usher at the theatre. And I have to
work, oh, so hard, every night and matinées on Wednesdays and
Saturdays.
MRS. BROWN. It must be very nice to see all the plays without
paying anything.
SOPHIE. One can’t see much when one has to show stupid men and
women to their seats all through the first act. People should not
be allowed to come in after the curtain goes up. Then, too, we
have the same play for so long. A run they call it. It is more
like a walk, it is so slow. Now at the opera, they change every
night, but the men have it all their own way there. They won’t have
an usheress, but we will stop that monopoly soon. We have just
organized a union, and we shall demand equal pay as the men. Now
they try to put us off on half pay because we are women.
MILDRED. I think there is a prejudice against women ushers in New
York. I don’t see why, they have them at all the theatres in London.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. And very neat and pretty they look in their white
caps and aprons.
SOPHIE. There is certainly a sex discrimination! Why, a man the
other night said to me, “You women are all alike. You never get a
thing straight.” Just because I was looking so hard at a woman’s
bird of paradise head-dress that I gave her the man’s seat in
the third row, and when he came in after, I gave him the lady’s
seat in the thirteenth. He threatened to complain of me to the
box-office—as if men ushers never made mistakes!
MILDRED. How hateful of him!
SOPHIE. Well, it will be all different now that we have organized.
We are going to strike.
ALL. What!
SOPHIE. Yes, and then how we will laugh when we see the audience
trying to find their own seats in the dark, and when they are all
seated, we are going to the cloak-room to mix up their checks.
MILDRED. Why, that is militant, like the English suffragettes. You
wouldn’t do that, Sophie.
SOPHIE. Yes, we will too, and the management will have to pay
damages to the people who lose their things. We will have great
times with the stingy old managers. You’ll see.
MRS. BROWN. Let me know the date, Miss Slavinsky, and I will wear
my old coat that I want to get rid of and see if I can pull a sable
coat out of the grab-bag.
KATY. (_Announcing._) Mr. Becker.
MRS. TILSBURY. Oh, Mr. Becker, how kind of you to come to-night to
our quiet little dinner when you have so many engagements. Let me
introduce Mrs. Brown. You already know Mildred and Mr. Van Tousel,
and this is Miss Slavinsky.
MR. BECKER. How do you do, Mrs. Brown. How do you do, Miss
Slavinsky.
SOPHIE. And is this another great big glorious man who wants to
help us poor weak little women to get our rights? No, it is that
same rude man who spoke so peevish to me at the theatre, the other
night. Go away, I have no use for you.
MR. BECKER. I don’t recall the circumstances. I think you have
made a mistake, Miss Slavinsky. I do not think we have ever met
before.
SOPHIE. Oh yes we have.
MILDRED. Miss Slavinsky is an usheress at a theatre, Mr. Becker,
and she made a mistake in showing you to your seat the other
evening that annoyed you.
MR. BECKER. I don’t remember it, Miss Tilsbury.
SOPHIE. Yes, you were at the theatre, don’t you remember, Mr.
Becker, last Monday, with a lady all alone. Not a lady like these
ladies, but another kind of a lady with a big red feather and a big
red cheek.
MR. BECKER. I still think you are mistaken, Miss Slavinsky. I have
not been to the theatre in a month. You women are apt to jump to
conclusions and then stick to them.
SOPHIE. Ah, yes, that is you, that is what you said, “You women——”
MRS. TILSBURY. Really, Miss Slavinsky, I think we had better let
the subject drop. It is not a matter of great importance as to
whether Mr. Becker went to the theatre on a particular evening or
not. I think you said you came to give Miss Tilsbury a message
about the Parade to-morrow.
SOPHIE. And now you think I had better go like any messenger
boy. You are right. What has a poor working girl to do in a fine
house like this, and among fine people like you? Good-night,
Mrs. Tilsbury. Good-night Mrs. Brown. Good-night, Mr. Becker.
Good-night, Mildred. I shall see you to-morrow.
MILDRED. Don’t go like this, Sophie. Josephine did not mean to
hurt your feelings. She was only afraid that you would hurt Mr.
Becker’s feelings. Stay and talk to us all.
SOPHIE. No, Mildred, I know when I am _de trop_. Everybody is not
so amiable as you. I will go. Good-night, Mr. Van Tousel; you are
a kind man. If you will come to our theatre, the Cosmopolitan
Theatre, I will show you your seat right away, no matter how many
wait, and I will bring you a glass of water between every act.
Oh we have just dear little glasses, now that the law is passed
that each person has his own glass, just the sort to remind one
of a cocktail. I have borrowed three for my room. What night will
you come? To-night is Friday and the leading lady is ill and the
theatre is all dark. That is how I could come here, but by Monday
she will be all well again. You will come Monday, dear Mr. Van
Tousel, you promise, yes? Good-night, dear friends. (_Goes out._)
MRS. BROWN. What an extraordinary creature.
MILDRED. (_In defence._) She is a Pole and not used to our ways.
She has a most brilliant mind and speaks five languages.
MR. BECKER. Five slangs I should call it, if she is as proficient
in the other tongues as in the American. (_Turns towards Mrs.
Brown._) Is this your little dog, Mrs. Brown?
MRS. BROWN. My little pig, you mean. I was saying just now that I
can only take him out at night except in an automobile, because it
is against the law in New York to keep pigs. Only fancy, they used
to run around the streets as scavengers. Then they passed a law
forbidding keeping them at all.
MR. VAN TOUSEL Pity they don’t have them for scavengers now. I
don’t suppose they would strike and they feel quite at home in the
mud in some of the streets.
MR. BECKER. You women never think about anything but how to break
laws and yet you want to vote.
MILDRED. If we helped to make the laws, Mr. Becker, we wouldn’t
want to break them. One takes care of whatever one has made. I
used to have a maid who never put away my dresses carefully unless
she had put a clean collar or a fresh ruffle on one and then she
was always most particular to keep it nice. It seemed as if when
once she had put a little of her own hand work on a gown that it
acquired a new value for her.
MR. BECKER. Be law-abiding citizens first and prove yourselves fit
to vote. Women are natural law-breakers. Look how women smuggle.
The wealthiest and most fashionable are proud of cheating the
government by bringing in some gown or jewel without paying duty on
it. Mrs. Brown, here, wouldn’t think of keeping a pig if it were
not for the excitement of breaking the law.
MRS. BROWN. It isn’t that at all, Mr. Becker. I keep him to make
conversation. Other women have dogs for the purpose, but a unique
one is too expensive and there is almost nothing left to say about
an ordinary one. I never smuggled anything in my life—that is
nothing more important than a pair of silk stockings.
MR. BECKER. That illustrates what I was saying. Women make a
business of smuggling for the sake of excitement. Couldn’t you have
bought—the article in question just as well in New York, Mrs.
Brown?
MRS. TILSBURY. (_Anxious to keep the peace._) Cochon seems to be
making plenty of conversation at present. Were you at the meeting
this afternoon, Mr. Becker?
MRS. BROWN. It’s a foolish old law about pigs anyway. So far
from buying Cochon to break it, I never knew anything about it
until Mrs. de Huyster looked it up to keep me out of the Colonial
Caudlers. She said that my ancestress was the last woman to keep
pigs in New York, and that she defied the authorities and was
arrested; that a woman like that probably stole her caudle-cup
from some one else, and that I was not a proper person to become a
member of the society on that account.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. How interesting! Then your taste for pigs is an
example of heredity.
MR. BECKER. And your taste for law-breaking also. What is the
Society of Colonial Caudlers? I never heard of it.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. It is a very fine society, Mr. Becker. My mother is
one of its originators and a vice-president. All the members are
women who have inherited a caudle-cup from a Colonial ancestor, and
on New Year’s Day, they all meet and drink punch out of the cups.
It is a very exclusive society. I don’t wonder you have never heard
of it.
MRS. BROWN. It is very difficult to get in, but Mrs. de Huyster
couldn’t keep me out in spite of her raking up old history, for I
discovered that her cup was only pewter, and she had to turn all
her attention to passing a by-law that pewter cups were admissible
as well as silver. They had an awful time. It almost broke up the
whole society. The pewterites claimed to be the real thing because
they said that the pewter cups came over first and that silver cups
were not introduced until much later, and that only the parvenues
in the Colonies had silver cups.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. Women are active in so many directions nowadays.
The Society of Colonial Caudlers shows how much they have done in
the line of historical research.
MR. BECKER. It is a pity they don’t spend a little more activity
in housekeeping. That little Pole would make an excellent cook
probably.
MILDRED. Oh, Mr. Becker, Sophie has too much education to do
housework.
MRS. TILSBURY. (_In desperation._) Were you at the meeting this
afternoon, Mr. Becker?
MR. BECKER. What meeting, Mrs. Tilsbury? I was at a Bank Directors’
meeting, an executive meeting of an Insurance Company, and at a
meeting of a special committee of the State Bar Association to
draft some measures which we hope to recommend to the Legislature.
I was at all these meetings. Which one do you refer to, Mrs.
Tilsbury?
MRS. TILSBURY. I meant the Woman’s Suffrage meeting.
MR. BECKER. I did not know anything about it. (_Turning to_
MILDRED.) You were not there I hope, Miss Tilsbury.
MILDRED. Indeed I was, Mr. Becker.
MRS. TILSBURY. Why Mildred was one of the principal speakers. That
is why I thought you would be there.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. Yes, Miss Tilsbury made her maiden speech—or should
I say the maiden’s speech? I congratulate you. It was fine.
MR. BECKER. I wonder your father allows it. You might better be at
home, darning his stockings.
MRS. BROWN. You are not in favor of Woman’s Suffrage I take it, Mr.
Becker.
MR. BECKER. No, indeed, I believe that the home is the best place
for women. The rough outside world is not suitable for them. When
I see you women crying for the ballot like a baby crying for the
moon, I think it would do you just as much good if you got it. You
might better be at home taking care of your children if you have
any. I dislike to see women trying to turn themselves into men.
They should be shielded and protected from all the disagreeable
things in the world.
MILDRED. Sometimes men do not protect them, Mr. Becker, but take
advantage of them instead.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. Ah, Miss Mildred, that was a wonderful speech you
made this afternoon. Your speaking of men’s taking advantage of
women reminds me of the poor countess you told about.
MR. BECKER. What countess was that, Miss Tilsbury? Tell me about
her and you will see how much pleasanter it is to speak before a
sympathetic audience of one in a charming drawing-room than before
a hooting crowd in a bare, badly-ventilated political hall.
MILDRED. There was no hooting this afternoon. There was some
applause, but that was rather nice.
MR. BECKER. I will applaud if you will tell me the story.
MILDRED. But Mr. Van Tousel has already heard it.
MR. BECKER. Let him go and talk to Mrs. Brown then about her pig.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. I should like to hear it again. You tell it so
well, Miss Mildred.
MILDRED. Well, the Viscountess of Montacute was betrothed to Sir
George Maxwell. That was long ago in the days of George the First,
when a married woman’s property belonged absolutely to her husband
unless it was securely settled upon her before the marriage. The
Viscountess had a large estate and she wanted to keep it in her
own hands, but Sir George, while always declaring that he would
never touch her money, delayed signing the settlement from day
to day until finally the wedding day arrived and the bride was
putting on all her finery in one room in her castle and the groom
was struggling to get into his stiff white brocade coat in another;
then Lady Montacute suddenly thought of the paper still unsigned
and sent it to Sir George while the clergyman and all the guests
were waiting below. He came flying to her room.
“My dearest love,” he said, “how could you mortify me so by sending
that settlement to me to be signed before all my friends who were
helping me to dress? You showed them all that you distrust me and
that you think that I care more for your confounded fortune than
for your sweet self. If you have so little confidence in me, let
us break off the match before it is too late. I could not love an
unbelieving wife.”
The Viscountess burst into tears and almost washed off the little
black patch which her maid had just placed on her rouged cheek.
“Do not be so cruel, Sir George,” she cried. “It was those odious
lawyers who have been pressing me to insist upon you putting your
signature to this settlement. You know that I myself trust you
completely.”
Sir George clasped her in his arms regardless of her powdered hair
which showered upon his coat.
“You shall always be free to enjoy your fortune as you will,” he
promised, “the same as if you remained unwed.”
The Viscountess was so touched by his forgiveness of her lack of
faith in him that she gave no further thought to the settlement
and they went down-stairs hand in hand and were married by the
clergyman at once.
Needless to say, a few years later, Sir George claimed his marital
right to gamble away his wife’s fortune and the distressed
Viscountess went to the Lord Chancellor for protection, demanding
that Sir George be compelled to keep his promise that she should
enjoy her own estate. She found that she was powerless against her
husband since the promise was not in writing. The learned Judges
decided that soft words spoken in a moment of infatuation were not
fraudulent if afterwards their purport was neglected, and that
a lover’s vows do not constitute a contract though sealed with
Hymen’s torch, so the unfortunate lady was reduced to beggary.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. Wonderfully dramatic. Beautifully told. When I
heard you repeat that story this afternoon, Miss Mildred, I was
more convinced than ever how necessary it is for women to have the
vote.
MR. BECKER. Such a thing could not happen in these days. The
married women’s property act has changed all that.
MILDRED. Women still have some wrongs which need to be remedied,
Mr. Becker, and a vote would be of great assistance to them in
righting those wrongs.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. And you are going to help me right them, Miss
Mildred. You remind me of St. Elizabeth. Every time you spoke this
afternoon it seemed as if a rose fell out from between your lips.
MILDRED. I thought it was the bread which she was carrying to the
poor which was turned into roses, Mr. Van Tousel, not the words she
spoke.
MR. BECKER. That is just what you modern women want to do, to give
the poor roses when they are crying for bread.
MILDRED. The miracle was performed in order that St. Elizabeth
might avoid the anger of her husband. He was a hard-hearted man and
objected to her charities.
MR. BECKER. Oh, that was different. You ought to have a husband to
send roses to you, Miss Tilsbury, but I suppose your head is so
full of these “old wives’ tales” that you never think of marriage.
MILDRED. I don’t know that I have thought very much about it as
regards myself.
MR. BECKER. Marriage is the highest aim of women’s existence, Miss
Tilsbury, and when she seeks to avoid it, she makes herself an
object of contempt to all right thinking men and women no matter
how much they may pretend to believe the contrary.
MILDRED. Sometimes a girl doesn’t meet a man she can love.
MR. BECKER. Then she should marry a man who loves her.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. Yes, Miss Mildred, it really doesn’t make any
difference whether you begin your dinner with soup and end with
ice-cream or begin with ice-cream and end with soup. It’s all the
same to you a week afterwards, and whether you begin with loving
your husband or being loved by him is the same in the end.
MRS. TILSBURY. (_To_ MRS. BROWN.) There they are, both at her
again, each in his own way. Do cut in and stop them.
MRS. BROWN. (_Humming softly._)
“You take the high road,
And I’ll take the low,
But I will reach Scotland before you.”
Why not let them fight it out like the Kilkenny cats?
MRS. TILSBURY. Oh, no! Remember you promised to help me!
MRS. BROWN. Well, which is the most dangerous? The anti for me, but
a girl’s taste may be different. Well, here I go. (_She walks over
to Mildred and the two men and addresses Mr. Van Tousel._) I think
I went to school with a sister of yours, Mr. Van Tousel.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. (_Sulky at being interrupted._) Very likely, Mrs.
Brown.
MRS. BROWN. At Mrs. Read’s,—Augusta Van Tousel. I think she must
have been your sister. Van Tousel is such an uncommon name.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. (_Becoming more interested._) There are only three
in the telephone directory, my mother and myself and a cousin of my
father’s. There is another family that spell the name T-o-u-s-l-e
instead of e-l; but I do not know anything about them.
MRS. BROWN. Your sister has married, has she not?
MR. VAN TOUSEL. Yes, she married a German and lives in Berlin. She
is not interested in “the cause,” I regret to say.
MRS. BROWN. She was very much interested in American History when
she was in school, probably because she had so many ancestors who
helped to make it.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. Yes, we are descended from three Colonial
Governors, two Signers of the Declaration of Independence, and six
Generals.
MRS. BROWN. Dear me, and now you are keeping up the traditions of
your family by taking part in this live issue of the day—Woman
Suffrage. Do come over to the sofa, Mr. Van Tousel, and tell me all
about your sister. It is so long since I have seen her. (_They walk
over to sofa and sit down conversing._)
MR. BECKER. Have you known Mr. Van Foolsel a long time, Miss
Tilsbury?
MILDRED. Van Tousel! Mr. Becker, not Van Foolsel!
MR. BECKER. I beg his pardon, but a man like that gets on my
nerves. He isn’t willing to do a man’s work in the world and so he
approves of women’s going out of the home and working instead. If
I should marry, I would want to take care of my wife and not let
her take care of me. Don’t you think that is the right spirit, Miss
Tilsbury?
MILDRED. A woman doesn’t like to sit around idle, Mr. Becker.
MR. BECKER. Certainly not, but no woman need ever be idle. She has
her housekeeping, her children, her friends, her charities, books
to read, and plays to see. I only wish that I could command my time
as a woman can do, but I have to work.
MILDRED. Don’t you like to work?
MR. BECKER. Yes, but sometimes I wish I could set my clients to
work instead. They go to Europe and I stay at home to attend to
their affairs. Sometime or other, I hope to go to Europe and leave
my clients at home to attend to their own business. I wouldn’t want
to go alone though, it would be too lonesome. I shall wait until I
am married.
MILDRED. Will that be soon?
MR. BECKER. I hope so, unless women become voters and vote to
abolish matrimony.
MILDRED. I don’t believe there will be any danger of that.
MR. BECKER. I don’t know. You can’t tell what a mob of women will
do when they get started. Look at the way they behave at bargain
counters, and at the excesses of the women in the French Revolution.
MILDRED. I should not think you would want to marry if you feel
that way about women.
MR. BECKER. I am thinking of women in a crowd, not of exceptional
individuals.
MILDRED. Come and see the Parade to-morrow and you will think
differently. Everything is to be as well ordered and dignified as
possible.
MR. BECKER. Are you going to march?
MILDRED. Yes, indeed.
MR. BECKER. Well, I will come, but I shall imagine you as walking
up the aisle of a church as a bride. (_They continue conversing in
low tones._)
(_Enter Katy who goes over to Mrs. Tilsbury._)
KATY. Can I speak with you for a moment, ma’am?
MRS. TILSBURY. What is it, Katy?
KATY. Helma says it is getting so late that she can’t wait to dish
up the dinner.
MRS. TILSBURY. Helma can’t wait to dish up the dinner? But Mr.
Tilsbury hasn’t come in yet. Why can’t she wait. Where is she going?
KATY. She is going to speak at a meeting at eight o’clock. Here she
is herself. She will explain it all to you.
(_Enter Helma._)
MRS. TILSBURY. You are going to a meeting, Helma?
HELMA. Yes, a meeting for the advancement of the cause of Woman
Suffrage.
MRS. TILSBURY. Can’t you wait and go right after dinner? You
needn’t stop to wash the dishes. I don’t see how you can go now. We
are expecting Mr. Tilsbury every minute, and as soon as he comes we
will go right into the dining-room and begin.
HELMA. I can’t wait another minute. I am down as first speaker on
the programme, and the ladies would never forgive me if I was late.
I am to speak on “How it feels to vote.” I am the only lady in the
Society who has ever voted, for in Norway the women are as good as
men. No other member of the Society has had any experience and can
speak instead of me.
MRS. TILBURY. But, Helma, what will we do about our dinner? I will
give you two dollars if you will stay and serve the dinner. See,
this nice new two-dollar bill? You shall have this. My guests are
all here, and the dinner half cooked. Oh! you must not go now.
HELMA. I certainly must, Mrs. Tilsbury. I get five dollars for my
talk. Tell Katy to cook the dinner.
KATY. Indeed, and I will not, ma’am. It’s not my work. I wouldn’t
meddle with her dirty, Norwegian tricks. I won’t stay in the same
house with her any longer anyway. My young man says he will not
marry me if I do. She drove him out of the kitchen only yesterday,
sassing him about the boss of his district, and calling him a
low-down Irish pig. She said she would never vote for a Democrat,
but John says she will never vote for a Democrat or Republican
either, so long as the Irish rule New York.
HELMA. Seeing him would win me over to the Prohibition party.
KATY. Is it trying to be funny, you are Helma? No, John says that
women will neither vote nor smoke in the State of Greater New York,
so long as the green grass and golden harp in the hand are worth
all the stars and striped rainbows in the heavens.
MRS. TILSBURY. Katy, you shall have the two dollars if you will
serve up the dinner. It must be almost cooked, so it won’t be much
work, and then you and John can use the money for two tickets and
go to some nice play together to-morrow evening.
KATY. John’s not the boy for that, Mrs. Tilsbury. He wouldn’t take
a girl’s hard-earned money before he was married to her. I am going
to leave anyway now that Miss Mildred is being so talked about for
her views on votes for women. He says that the only difference
between men and women now is that men smoke and vote and women
don’t, and that to marry a girl who did both would be like having
another man about the house. He says he has his doubts about taking
a girl to wife out of this house.
HELMA. You never saw me smoke but once, Katy Flanigan. I took an
old stale cigarette out of a box Mr. Tilsbury had thrown away. I
won’t stay here to be talked to like this no longer. (_Goes out
noisily._)
MRS. TILSBURY. Does Helma really smoke.
KATY. Indeed yes, ma’am. Wasn’t Mr. Tilsbury after noticing last
night how fast his cigar box had emptied?
MRS. TILSBURY. How dreadful; but now that she has gone, do serve
the dinner and I will make it good to you.
(_Kitchen bell rings._)
KATY. I can’t indeed, ma’am. There’s John now. The Union would
never let him marry a girl that did extra work that wasn’t her
own trade. (KATY _goes out hurriedly and almost knocks into_ MR.
TILSBURY _who is coming in_.)
MR. TILSBURY. What’s the trouble about, Josephine?
MRS. TILSBURY. Oh, George. What has made you so late? Helma
wouldn’t wait any longer to cook the dinner because she has an
engagement to speak at a Woman Suffrage meeting and Katy won’t
do it because she doesn’t want to vote and she and Helma have
quarrelled about Katy’s beau. Everybody is here waiting for dinner
and I don’t know what I shall do. Why didn’t you come sooner?
MR. TILSBURY. I stopped in at the club for a minute and the fellows
persuaded me to make a fourth at bridge. It seemed kind of mean not
to when the three were just sitting there with nothing to do.
MRS. TILSBURY. Yes, but there were five of us waiting for you here
at home and now there is no dinner. It’s all your fault, so it’s up
to you to suggest something. I have done my best.
MR. TILSBURY. Well, I guess we had better adjourn to a restaurant.
(_Goes forward to greet the others._) How do you do, Mrs. Brown.
Hello, Van Tousel; glad to see you Becker. It seems a domestic
tragedy has just occurred. Mrs. Tilsbury tells me that the cause of
Woman Suffrage is being fought out in our kitchen. It seems rather
a small floor for the solution of a world problem, but the cook,
who is a Norwegian and a suffragette, has hurried out to speak for
the cause, and the waitress, who is an anti, refuses to come to
the rescue. I think we had better let them fight it out and go to
Sherry’s for dinner where cooks and waiters are all voters. (_Goes
out to dress._)
MRS. BROWN. What shall I do with Cochon? Do you suppose I could
take him in with me at Sherry’s or had I better leave him here?
MRS. TILSBURY. I don’t know whether it would be wise to leave him
here. The Irish are so sensitive on the subject of pigs. Suppose we
leave him at your apartment as we go by. Come and put on your wrap
again.
(MRS. TILSBURY _and_ MRS. BROWN _go out_.)
MR. BECKER. Well, this is a fine example of what the
enfranchisement of woman will lead to; to be driven out of one’s
home by political dissension in the kitchen.
MILDRED. We believe in freedom for all women, Mr. Becker. One must
be willing to put up with a little inconvenience for the sake of
our convictions.
MR. BECKER. And go to a restaurant while your own dinner at home is
going to waste?
MILDRED. All food will be cooked in a central kitchen soon and sent
around to different homes. Cooking will be done outside of the
homes, just as dressmaking, baking, laundering, and lots of other
things have been transferred into independent industries. Women can
no longer be slaves in the house.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. (_Clapping his hands._) Splendid, splendid, Miss
Mildred. I have often thought the same thing.
(_Re-enter_ MRS. TILSBURY _and_ MRS. BROWN.)
MR. BECKER. Well, I hope I won’t live to see that day.
MR. VAN TOUSEL. You will have to take a position as a chef, Becker,
and eat your own cooking.
MILDRED. Oh, Josephine, I have had such a splendid idea. Let me go
down-stairs and finish cooking the dinner.
MR. BECKER Miss Tilsbury, I admire your spirit.
MRS. TILSBURY. Why, Mildred, you are too tired after making that
speech to do anything of the kind. Besides you know how hard it is
to get your father to go to a restaurant for dinner. He always says
he is afraid of ptomaine poisoning. It will be a great deal more
fun to dine at Sherry’s than to stay here. I am glad Helma has gone
speechifying. Don’t let your father hear your ridiculous suggestion.
MRS. BROWN. Yes, Mildred, do keep quiet. Think of the lights and
the music and the women’s dresses. It will be awfully amusing.
Hurry and put on your cloak!
(_Re-enter_ MR. TILSBURY.)
MR. TILSBURY. Are you all ready? I have telephoned for two taxi’s.
MRS. BROWN. Yes, indeed. Hurray for Woman Suffrage! This is the
first time I have ever been in favor of it.
MR. BECKER. The breaking-up of the American home, may it long be
averted.
(_All go out. Curtain._)
ACT II
SCENE I
_The scene is the same as in Act I. The room is empty when_
MILDRED _enters with_ EDWARD MELVIN. _She is dressed in a
short white serge dress with green sash and purple band
over the left shoulder, draped like the garter ribbon._
MELVIN _carries a large white banner on which is painted in
green and purple letters, “Daughters of the Danaïdes_.”
MILDRED. (_Half hysterical._) You have been so kind to me, I shall
never forget it. I do not know what I should have done without your
help. I thought I was going to faint right there in the street,
and the crowd was jeering so. Then you suddenly appeared like a
Lohengrin and seized the standard and assisted me down the side
street. I could never have reached home if you had not hailed
the taxicab and brought me back. I should have been afraid to
take a street taxicab myself. One hears such awful stories about
kidnapping.
MR. MELVIN. Yet you were not afraid to go with me—a perfect
stranger!
MILDRED. I knew the Club on the corner out of which you ran, what
nice men belong to it. Those in the window were all joking you
when you left them, but you didn’t care. You came and helped me in
spite of everything. When you were beside me and I could see your
eyes, I felt sure you were to be trusted. I didn’t think anything
more about it.
MR. MELVIN. (_Slightly embarrassed._) How heavy this banner is.
They should not have given it to a child like you to carry. It
would be a weighty burden for a man.
MILDRED. I am not a child! It is this short skirt that makes
me look like one. I am over eighteen years old. The members of
the Society chose me as standard bearer because it is a great
honor. They said that I had done so much for the cause both in
contributions and personal service that it was my right to carry
the banner.
MR. MELVIN. So you contribute to the Campaign Funds. Well, that is
an important thing to do, the most important perhaps.
MILDRED. Oh, I didn’t mean to give the impression that I have given
so much. I really only give what I ought, because you see most of
the members are factory girls and typewriters, self-supporting
women who have all they can do to pay their monthly dues of ten
cents.
MR. MELVIN. (_Reading from the banner._) “Daughters of the
Danaïdes.” So that is the name of your society, is it?
MILDRED. Yes. Mrs. Dunstan chose it. She is so clever and has read
everything. She says it is an alliteration worthy of Henry James.
MR. MELVIN. Do you know what the Danaïdes did?
MILDRED. (_Solemnly._) They murdered their husbands.
MR. MELVIN. Is that the purpose of your Society? Have you all vowed
to murder your husbands?
MILDRED. I don’t think we shall any of us ever marry.
MR. MELVIN. How about Mrs. Dunstan?
MILDRED. Oh, she divorced hers.
MR. MELVIN. Don’t you think a man ought to be afraid of you when
you belong to such a murderously named society?
MILDRED. Mrs. Dunstan explained to us that ours was symbolic, that
we must kill figuratively by destroying the peace of every man who
does not believe in Woman Suffrage.
MR. MELVIN. Are you going to begin by destroying mine?
MILDRED. Don’t you believe in Woman Suffrage?
MR. MELVIN. Not for you.
MILDRED. Why not for me?
MR. MELVIN. Because you are too pretty.
MILDRED. How ridiculous! What has looks to do with it? Homely men
vote.
MR. MELVIN. (_Looking up at the painting._) Is that your mother’s
portrait?
MILDRED. Yes, how did you know it? Everyone says I don’t look a bit
like her.
MR. MELVIN. Your smile is the same.
MILDRED. I wish the portrait were mine.
MR. MELVIN. Isn’t it?
MILDRED. No. My mother willed it to my father. She left everything
else to me, but I would rather have had the portrait and not so
much money.
MR. MELVIN. Do you remember your mother?
MILDRED. Yes. She only died six years ago. I often come down here
in the evenings when my father and stepmother are out and curl up
in that corner of the sofa and try to recall what she said to me
when I was a little girl and to imagine how she would advise me
now, when I am puzzled what to do.
MR. MELVIN. Was she a supporter of votes for women too?
MILDRED. When mother was alive, Woman Suffrage was not so
prominent. Of course, there were societies and clubs but they were
composed more of professional women, doctors, and lawyers. Society
women had not taken it up and I don’t suppose mother ever thought
anything about the subject.
MR. MELVIN. Wise woman. That is the best way to treat it. You would
be much happier if you didn’t think anything about it.
MILDRED. But those poor girls, they have to struggle so hard to get
a living. I must help them.
MR. MELVIN. Helping them is a different proposition, but would the
vote help them so much at present?
MILDRED. It is a great power.
MR. MELVIN. So great a power that if your girls had the vote, there
are plenty of people who would try to control it for them. Try to
improve the ideals of your girls, in dress and in way of living.
Try to bring about an improvement in the conditions of their work,
but don’t mix them up in politics. Not just yet anyway.
MILDRED. Mrs. Thom says it is the only way.
MR. MELVIN. Who is Mrs. Thom?
MILDRED. She is one of our greatest leaders.
MR. MELVIN. Did you ever wonder what your mother would have said to
all this tomfoolery? Don’t you care more for your mother’s opinion
than for that of Mrs. Thom?
MILDRED. Why do you call it tomfoolery?
MR. MELVIN. Can you call it anything else? These parades and
platform speeches, these huge badges and conspicuous standards?
Daughters of the Danaïdes! Do you know what punishment was
inflicted upon the Danaïdes?
MILDRED. No.
MR. MELVIN. They were condemned to carry water in a sieve.
MILDRED. (_After a slight pause._) You mean that my efforts in the
cause of Woman Suffrage are futile? That I am trying to carry water
in a sieve?
MR. MELVIN. Are you getting any results?
MILDRED. We increased our membership last year from two hundred to
over a thousand.
MR. MELVIN. Statistics. Have you gained anything? Made any real
advance? Do your members really want to vote?
MILDRED. How can you talk to me in this way! There are a great
many nice and clever women in our Society who believe in the
enfranchisement of women sincerely, and would make any sacrifice
to accomplish it. Look at my stepmother. She is naturally fond of
art and fond of society, but she has neglected both to work in the
cause. We are not trying to carry water in a sieve.
MR. MELVIN. Forgive me. I did not mean to annoy you. You are so
tired too. Run and lie down now, and forget all about women’s
rights and wrongs for a while. I am going to ask you to let me call
again sometime and you shall try to convert me. Here is my card.
Your father will know who I am.
MILDRED. (_Taking card._) Thank you. I do feel rather done up.
Thank you again for seeing me home.
(MELVIN _leaves by one door_. MILDRED _goes over to the
banner which he has left on a chair, rolls it up and puts
it in a corner. Then she leaves the room by the other
door._)