SCENE 2

_Enter_ MRS. TILSBURY, MRS. BROWN, MR. BECKER, _and_ MR. VAN

TOUSEL.

MRS. TILSBURY. Well, the parade is over, thank goodness. Now we

four will have a nice little game of Auction. Half a cent a point,

no more. What do you say, Imogene?

MRS. BROWN. I don’t know whether I dare. I have been losing so all

the week. I don’t half believe in playing for money, Josephine. Our

Rector gave us such a touching sermon about it last week I almost

cried in church.

MR. VAN TOUSEL. Oh, come along, Mrs. Brown, be a sport. Probably

you will win to-day. I always find myself even at the end of the

year when I play often enough.

MR. BECKER. Yes, one’s gains and losses generally balance in the

long run. We can’t play auction without having a little something

at stake. It makes one careless in one’s game.

MRS. BROWN. Well, I will play one rubber at half a cent a point,

and if I win I will play another, but where shall I put Cochon?

MRS. TILSBURY. Here, give him to me. I’ll put him in the wood-box.

It has not been filled as usual.

MRS. BROWN. But it is so hard. Put this sofa-cushion in first.

MRS. TILSBURY. Stop, that is my best sofa-cushion. Here, I’ll put

your muff under. It is so big and soft, it will fill it up nicely.

MRS. BROWN. No, he can’t have that, it is my new muff. Perhaps

he won’t find the wooden boards so hard after all, he is growing

pretty fat. Did ’oo mind the bare boards, dearie? Will ’oo be comfy

in the wood-box? Oh, did I tell you the experience I had yesterday

in regard to him? A well-dressed woman stopped me in the street and

showed me a badge of the S.P.C.A. She said that she lived across

the street from me and had often noticed my little dog. She wished

to tell me that he was out of proportion across the haunches,

probably because I did not feed him properly, and that unless I

gave the matter my immediate attention and changed his diet, she

would have me arrested for maltreating an animal. She went on to

say that she had often tried to get a photograph of the dog to

present as an exhibit to the society, but that I never seemed

to take him out in the daytime, which was another example of my

cruelty to him.

MRS. TILSBURY. Did you ever! What are we coming to? What did you

say to her?

MR. BECKER. Just as I said, Mrs. Brown. You women are determined

to break the laws. You seem to think that laws are made only to be

broken.

MRS. TILSBURY.

The men of New York take pleasure in making

Laws that the women take pleasure in breaking.

Do tell us, Imogene, what answer did you make to that impertinent

woman?

MRS. BROWN. I told her to mind her own business.

MR. VAN TOUSEL. Excellent.

MRS. TILSBURY. What did she say to that?

MRS. BROWN. She said she was minding her own business but that she

was going to mind it still better, as I should soon find out. I am

afraid I shall be forced to move.

MR. BECKER. Or to give up Cochon.

MRS. BROWN. Give up Cochon! Why, Mr. Becker, I love Cochon just

as much as though he were a dog, and do you know what sacrifices

women make for the sake of their dogs? There is Mrs. Davenant for

instance. She received a perfectly wonderful invitation to visit

some people of title in England and because she could not take her

little chow dog Peeksie with her unless she was separated from

him for two weeks while he was shut up in that odious Quarantine,

she refused the invitation. She said she had never been away from

Peeksie for a night since she had first bought him two years

ago. She wrote to the Port authorities and offered to go to the

Quarantine with Peeksie, but they replied that there was no room

for her, that the largest pen was three feet by five for a St.

Bernard.

MRS. TILSBURY. I hope Mrs. Davenant took that for a reflection on

her size. She is really growing enormous. She ought to roll more.

MR. BECKER. Does Mr. Davenant like to have that dog around his room

all night?

MRS. BROWN. No, he and Mrs. Davenant have been occupying different

rooms ever since Peeksie came. Mr. Davenant got up once in the dark

and kicked her.

ALL. Kicked Mrs. Davenant!

MRS. BROWN. No, Peeksie! He said it was by mistake but Mrs.

Davenant was never quite sure that it was.

(MRS. TILSBURY _goes to corner of room and arranges table_.)

MR. VAN TOUSEL. That S.P.C.A. is a worthy society although the zeal

of one member seems to have been misdirected in your case, Mrs.

Brown. My mother is vice-president of one of its branches.

MRS. BROWN. Your mother seems to be vice-president in a good many

societies, Mr. Van Tousel.

MR. VAN TOUSEL. Yes, in sixty-three.

MRS. BROWN. Any Suffragists’ Society?

MR. VAN TOUSEL. No. I regret to say my mother is an

anti-suffragist. She says she has no time to vote. She calls

herself an old-fashioned woman.

MR. BECKER. I should like to meet your mother, Van Tousel.

MRS. BROWN. So should I.

MR. BECKER. To try and make a Suffragist of her, I suppose. You

women are all natural proselytizers.

MRS. BROWN. No, indeed. I should like to meet Mrs. Van Tousel

because she is an old-fashioned woman. I am an old-fashioned woman

and like seeks like.

MR. BECKER. You an old-fashioned woman? How absurd! How about your

Bridge playing?

MRS. BROWN. I only do that to please my friends. Old-fashioned

women were brought up to study how to please.

MR. BECKER. And Cochon, there, doesn’t he make you up-to-date?

MRS. BROWN. He is a domestic animal, a barn yard animal, and

all old-fashioned women used to busy themselves about barn yard

animals. I remember when I was a little girl, I used to go with

my grandmother on the farm every morning to see the pigs fed.

It is only lately, Mr. Becker, that the hog business has been

incorporated and taken away from the list of home activities.

Women’s work used to be in the home, but now they are driven out

to work in factories and offices. Women used to be guardians of

the hearth like the Vestal Virgins, but now they are driven out

into the world to earn money to pay for the gas that the gas stove

consumes. Instead of the “eternal flame,” we have the intermittent

gas jet. My cook tries to make it eternal though, she always

forgets to turn it off.

MR. VAN TOUSEL. Bravo, Mrs. Brown. We shall soon have you on the

platform making speeches.

MRS. BROWN. Not on your life. I was only trying to point out the

changes in the times to Mr. Becker.

MRS. TILSBURY. (_Returning._) How shall we play? You and Mr. Van

Tousel, Imogene, and Mr. Becker and I?

MR. BECKER. We should cut for partners. You women never have a

sense of fair play.

MRS. BROWN. Is cutting the cards fair play, Mr. Becker? I thought

it was chance.

MRS. TILSBURY. I thought we would begin that way and pivot

afterwards.

MR. BECKER. It is always better to begin fairly. We may not have

time for more than one rubber. (_They cut for partners._)

MRS. BROWN. Well, you and I seem to be partners, Josephine.

MR. VAN TOUSEL. Oh, that won’t do. The ladies against the gentlemen.

MR. BECKER. It is quite appropriate for the ending of to-day. Sex

against sex. It is your deal, Mrs. Tilsbury? shall I make up the

cards?

MRS. TILSBURY. Oh, dear, the points of these pencils are all

broken. Will some one sharpen them?

MR. BECKER. That means you and me, Van Tousel. I have never seen a

woman who could sharpen a pencil.

MRS. BROWN. It is certainly much nicer to have some one else to do

it. Sharpening pencils is such dirty work. (_The men sharpen the

pencils while the women look on._)

MRS. BROWN. Did you ever see anything so funny as that parade

anyway? There wasn’t a decently dressed woman in the whole crowd

nor a good-looking one either—(_suddenly remembering where she

is_)—except Mildred.

MRS. TILSBURY. Those women with the sandwich boards with “Votes for

Women” painted on them were as shapeless as the boards.

MRS. BROWN. The United Home Helpers Union seemed to me to have the

most style.

MRS. TILSBURY. That is because most of them are domestic servants,

and they were wearing their mistresses’ old clothes or new ones. My

cook asked me to give her my second-best tailor-made suit and I did

not dare to refuse for fear she would leave before my dinner-party

next week. I am sure she will go immediately after. I hated to give

it to her for it was in very good condition. Now, I have nothing

but my best one to wear in the mornings.

MRS. BROWN. I wouldn’t mind that. Gwendolen Jones had one exactly

like it except it is gray instead of heliotrope. If you wear yours

in the morning, she can hardly go on wearing hers to Bridge parties

in the afternoons as if it were something dressy. She will be

furious with you, for she will be compelled to get something new at

last.

MRS. TILSBURY. Gwendolen wasn’t in the parade, was she?

MRS. BROWN. No, not one of what the newspapers call the society

women marched. They seemed to lack the courage of their convictions.

MR. VAN TOUSEL. Perhaps they were afraid of making themselves

conspicuous.

MRS. BROWN. They have been making themselves notorious in the

newspapers lately.

MR. BECKER. That is a very different thing. If they marched in the

street every one would see them as they are, but if described in

the newspapers they appear flatteringly represented by flattered

reporters.

MRS. BROWN. The men who marched looked awfully shamefaced. Most of

them looked like tramps at one dollar per head from the way they

walked. Why didn’t you march, Mr. Van Tousel?

MR. VAN TOUSEL. I felt it my duty to act as escort to you ladies.

MRS. BROWN. I wouldn’t dare ask you why you didn’t march, Mr.

Becker. You might scalp me instead of the pencil. Did any of you

notice the girl who carried the banner in the Confederation of Lady

Milliners. She reeled about as if she were dizzy. (_Sees banner in

the corner._) Oh, there is Mildred’s banner against the wall. I can

show you how she did it. (_Picks up banner and staggers across the

room with it._)

MRS. TILSBURY. Is that Mildred’s banner? Why the child must have

come back. Nothing could separate her from her banner. I hope she

was not taken ill. She looked quite well when she passed us. I did

not suppose she would be back for two hours. I thought we would

have plenty of time for our game.

MR. VAN TOUSEL. Doesn’t Miss Tilsbury allow you to play bridge?

MRS. TILSBURY. She doesn’t quite approve of it. She is so serious

minded, dear child, she looks upon it as frivolous.

MR. BECKER. As the child is inclined, the parent is bent.

(_Enter_ MRS. THOM, _and_ MISS SLAVINSKY, _her arm in a

sling_.)

KATY. (_Announcing._) Mrs. Mary Henrietta Thom, Miss Sophie

Slavinsky.

MRS. TILSBURY. I am so pleased to see you, Mrs. Thom. Mrs. Brown,

Mrs. Thom, Mr. Becker, Mr. Van Tousel. How do you do, Miss

Slavinsky. You have met every one here before, I think.

SOPHIE. That’s the ticket. How do you do, everybody?

MRS. THOM. (_Turning to everyone._) I came in, Mrs. Tilsbury, to

inquire about Mildred. I have been so anxious about her.

MRS. TILSBURY. Then Mildred is at home? We just now saw her banner

standing in the corner and I was going to ask if she had returned.

I felt sure that she and her standard could not be far apart.

MRS. THOM. She is most loyal to her beliefs. I am anxious to hear

that she is safely back. Miss Slavinsky is a Daughter of the

Danaïdes and she ran forward at one of the halts——

MRS. BROWN. (_Aside to_ MR. BECKER.) At which halt? It seemed to me

to be a very halting procession.

MRS. THOM.—and she told me that Mildred had fainted and been

carried off by a strange man in a taxicab.

ALL. What!

MRS. THOM. One hears such frightful stories about men enticing

girls into taxicabs that I was much alarmed naturally and hurried

here at once, meaning to give an alarm to the Police Station if she

should not have returned.

MRS. BROWN. (_Aside._) She wanted an excuse to get out of the

procession.

MRS. TILSBURY. It was probably some man she knew, Mrs. Thom.

Mildred would never go in a taxicab with a stranger.

SOPHIE. (_Who has been making eyes at_ MR. VAN TOUSEL, _interrupts

excitedly_.) No, Mrs. Tilsbury, she did not know him. I heard

him say, “Although you have never seen me before, will you trust

yourself to me?” It was most romantic.

MRS. TILSBURY. Why didn’t you stop her?

SOPHIE. What could I do. The order came at that instant, forward,

march. I had to obey.

MRS. TILSBURY. You might have jumped into the taxicab with her.

SOPHIE. Then we might both have been destroyed. No, I stayed safe

to protect her and took the number of the cab—2961.

MRS. THOM. See what mental training does for a woman. Miss

Slavinsky is a business woman. She has learned to control her

emotions and to use her judgment. Instead of madly jumping into the

cab after Mildred as Mrs. Tilsbury suggests, she very wisely made a

note in her mind of the number so that the cab could be traced.

MRS. BROWN. Suppose she has made a mistake in the number and that

we trace the wrong cab? I very often think that I can remember a

telephone number, and that I won’t take the trouble to look it up

in that difficult telephone directory. So I give the number to

Central and some one I don’t know at all answers the call. I don’t

let on to Central, however. I look up the right number and repeat

it to her and scold her for having given me the wrong one in the

first place, but it all takes a lot more time than if I had not

depended upon my memory for numbers.

MRS. THOM. Miss Slavinsky’s profession as an usheress in a theatre

trains her memory for numbers. She has to remember the number of

the seats.

SOPHIE. Mr. Becker does not agree with you, Mrs. Thom.

MR. BECKER. Your memory is only too good, Miss Slavinsky.

MRS. THOM. Here we are talking when we are not yet sure whether

Mildred is in the house or not. That may be another banner of the

Daughters of the Danaïdes or that man may have sent it here to get

it out of his way so that he might not be traced by its presence.

The motto of the D. D.’s is, _Savoir et faire_,—“To know and to

do.” Mrs. Tilsbury, will you ascertain if your step-daughter is in

the house or not, so that we may act accordingly.

MRS. BROWN. (_To the men._) _Savoir et faire_—what a difference

that little word “et” makes?

MRS. TILSBURY. I will go and see. (_Goes out._)

MRS. THOM. I hope that both of you gentlemen are supporters of the

cause.

MR. VAN TOUSEL. (_Blithely._) I am.

SOPHIE. Mr. Van Tousel is a hero, Mrs. Thom.

MRS. THOM. Have you signed the petition?

MR. VAN TOUSEL. (_Blankly._) What petition?

MRS. THOM. The petition to the Legislature of the State asking them

to enfranchise the enslaved part of its population. You evidently

have not signed it or you would know, I suppose—or are you one

of those gentlemen of leisure who leave all their thinking and

acting to their secretaries? Here. (_Takes roll of paper out of

her pocket._) You might as well sign it now. Is there pen and ink

in that desk over there or is it a purely ornamental piece of

furniture?

MR. VAN TOUSEL. (_Meekly taking the paper and going over to the

desk with it._) Where shall I sign it, Mrs. Thom?

MRS. THOM. Right there under the last one. You have not forgotten

how to sign your name, I suppose. Even people living on an unearned

income are obliged to endorse their dividend checks, I believe.

MR. BECKER. Unless their investments are in bonds and then they

only need a pair of scissors. In that case, the shears is mightier

than the pen.

MRS. BROWN. (_Aside to_ MR. BECKER.) Is Mrs. Thom a socialist, Mr.

Becker?

MR. BECKER. It looks like it. You believe in universal brotherhood,

I presume, Mrs. Thom?

MRS. THOM. If it includes the sisterhood also, Mr. Becker. (_To_

MR. VAN TOUSEL.) Ah, that is right. Think how pleased your mother

will be.

MR. VAN TOUSEL. My mother doesn’t believe in the enfranchisement

of women, Mrs. Thom. She is Vice-President of the Women’s

Anti-Suffrage League.

MRS. THOM. Your mother doesn’t believe in the enfranchisement

of women! She is a disgrace to her sex. It is the women who,

coddled in the lap of luxury, are unwilling to turn out from

their enervating seraglios to do an honest day’s work for the

hard-working women and girls of the People who do the most damage

to the cause! It is they whom tricky politicians make use of when

they say that they would give their support to the enfranchisement

of our sex if they thought that the majority of women really wanted

to vote.

MR. VAN TOUSEL. But my mother doesn’t live in a seraglio, Mrs. Thom.

MRS. THOM. Oh, I know, they don’t call it by that name in polite

society because here in New York the rule is, different wives,

different roofs, and one is not supposed to know of the existence

of the other. One lives in a brown stone Fifth Avenue mansion, and

another in a Harlem flat.

MR. VAN TOUSEL. But, Mrs. Thom, my mother is a widow.

MRS. THOM. Then she should be on our subscription list. She can’t

give the excuse that her husband does not approve of it. I will

call and see her. (_Takes out notebook and writes in it._) Now, Mr.

Becker, please, directly below Mr. Van Tousel.

MRS. BROWN. (_Aside._) She talks like a dentist.

MR. BECKER. I will not sign the petition, Mrs. Thom. I do not want

women to have the vote.

MRS. THOM. You don’t believe in “the cause”!

MR. BECKER. I do not consider it a cause.

MRS. THOM. Oh, you are one of those men who try to raise themselves

by keeping women down. You are a dog in the manger, who never

has and never will do any good for your country, yourself, and

who tries to keep others from being patriotic. The vote of women

means the purification of the government. Well, we don’t want your

signature. It will never represent anything. (_Rolls up petition

and puts in her pocket._)

SOPHIE. How did you enjoy the play the other night, Mr. Van Tousel?

Did I not usher you in beautifully? Don’t you think women ushers

beat the men?

MR. VAN TOUSEL. You were certainly very attentive, Miss Slavinsky.

SOPHIE. Come again, Mr. Van Tousel, and let me usher you again to

your seat. It is nice to care for a real gentleman who neither

jollies one nor finds faults about trifles. Remember the centre

aisle.

(_Re-enter_ MRS. TILSBURY.)

MRS. TILSBURY. Mildred is back. She is completely exhausted and

is lying down. It seems she found the banner too heavy for her. A

strange man did see her home. Here is his card: “Mr. Edward Melvin,

Harmony Club.”

MRS. THOM. What a narrow escape for her.

SOPHIE. We might never have heard of her again.

MRS. BROWN. You forget your number, Miss Slavinsky.

MRS. TILSBURY. I cannot think what got into Mildred. She is usually

so diffident with strangers. She wants to see you, Mrs. Thom; you

too, Miss Slavinksy. Will you come up to her room? (_She starts to

leave the room but is stopped by_ VAN TOUSEL.)

MR. VAN TOUSEL. One moment, Mrs. Tilsbury. I am afraid I cannot

stay any longer. We have an early dinner to-night, because my

mother is to preside at a meeting of the X.Y.Z. The President is

ill, and she as Vice-President must be there on time. I promised

to be home promptly. Let me thank you for a delightful afternoon.

To see a noble army of martyrs—of women I mean, marching through

the street in thinly clad delicate feet, bearing heavy banners for

the sake of freedom, is an inspiring sight. It should make every

man stop and think how much he owes to that other sex which we are

accustomed to look upon as less enduring than our own.

SOPHIE. Mr. Van Tousel, you give me thrills.

MRS. THOM. Mr. Van Tousel, it is a pleasure to have met you.

MR. BECKER. (_To_ MRS. BROWN.) Having signed the petition and

thereby sold his birthright for a mess of pottage, he is bound to

tell every one how good it is and how much he likes pottage. I

admire his obstinacy.

SOPHIE. I must go too. I forgot I have an engagement, Mrs. Thom.

Give my love to Mildred. I will come and see her to-morrow. Will

you be so kind as to put me in a car, Mr. Van Tousel, at the corner

please. The cops are so rough to a poorly dressed working girl who

is out alone after dark. They say, “I will run you in if I catch

you again.” Good-night, Mrs. Tilsbury, Good-night, Mrs. Brown.

Good-night, Mr. Woman Hater.

MRS. THOM. Good-night, Sophie. I know the way to Mildred’s room,

Mrs. Tilsbury. You need not leave your friends. (_Goes out._)

MRS. TILSBURY. Good-night, Mr. Van Tousel. I am sorry that you must

go so soon and that we shall not have our little game. I hope it is

only postponed however. (MRS. TILSBURY _shakes hands with_ MR. VAN

TOUSEL, _who goes out, followed by_ SOPHIE.)

MRS. TILSBURY. Excuse me a moment. I will be right back. I don’t

want Mrs. Thom to excite Mildred.

MRS. BROWN. Wait, and tell us something about Mrs. Thom.

MR. BECKER. The lady seems to know her way about.

MRS. TILSBURY. Don’t you know who she is? Why she is one of the

most important fighters for “the cause.” Don’t you remember the

lawsuit she brought last year against the bootblack at the entrance

to the Brooklyn Bridge? She wanted to sit up in his chair and have

her boots blackened during the rush hours and the boy objected and

said it wasn’t customary. They got into a dispute while a whole

line of men were kept waiting. Finally the bootblack became angry

and declared he would not do it and that he had not the facilities

for blackening ladies’ boots. She said that she didn’t wear ladies’

boots and he replied that “of course, since she wasn’t a lady, she

couldn’t wear ladies’ boots, but he’d be darned if he would touch

her old footgear anyway.” The newspapers were full of the case.

I wonder you did not read about it, but I suppose you were not

interested. Mildred read it aloud to me because she is a friend of

Mrs. Thom.

MRS. BROWN. Did Mrs. Thom bring an action against the bootblack?

MRS. TILSBURY. Yes, she claimed that blackening boots is a public

utility service and that a bootblack stand in the street occupies

public property and should be open to all taxpayers, men or women.

The boy retaliated by demanding damages for his loss of patronage

while he and Mrs. Thom were fighting it out. He said it was more

difficult to please women than men and that he didn’t want women

clients, that the women would be setting up boot stands next and

taking all the trade away from the men just as they were trying to

do in the newspaper selling. The Anti’s took up the controversy

and said it was improper for women to have their boots blackened

in public because they were obliged to lift their skirts too high.

I can’t stay any longer. Mrs. Thom will have talked Mildred out of

her last cent.

MRS. BROWN. Tell us first, which won out, Mrs. Thom or the

bootblack?

MRS. TILSBURY. Can you ask, having met Mrs. Thom? (_She goes out._)

MRS. BROWN. Mr. Becker, it seems to me that you and I are the only

two people around here who have any sense left. I can see that you

believe in the old-fashioned doctrine that the man should go out

into the world to make his fame and fortune and that the woman

should try to make a happy home to which he may return. That is my

doctrine also.

MR. BECKER. “Man for the field and woman for the hearth.”

MRS. BROWN. Exactly. How concisely expressed. Is that original, Mr.

Becker?

MR. BECKER. No. It is from Tennyson’s _Princess_.

MRS. BROWN. You are so clever. You know everything. I couldn’t help

but admire the way you answered Mrs. Thom. Why do women make such

fools of themselves? They can never be so clever as men. Why do

they try to be?

MR. BECKER. My dear Mrs. Brown, I cannot tell you what pleasure

it has given me to have met you to-day, to come across one

sensible, well balanced woman in this crowd of neurotic, hysterical

feminists. Women are making the great mistake nowadays of thinking

of themselves as a separate class instead of as a sex, that half

of humanity which, keeping within its hemisphere of duties and

responsibilities, makes the completion and perfection of the whole.

The feminine sex is like—like a tire on the wheel of an automobile.

The tire is of no use without the revolving power imparted by the

engine to the wheel, and then it is the means of furnishing a

smooth motion to the car and of preventing jars and dislocations

of the machinery. This has always been woman’s true function, the

elimination of the jolts of life so that men’s more aggressive

activities may proceed gently on.

MRS. BROWN. Oh, Mr. Becker. What a charming expression and how

original—women’s hemisphere. I have always rather resented the

expression woman’s sphere—as if women had no share in the human

interest but were apart by themselves. But women’s hemisphere! Why

it reminds me of a cotillion figure where one goes around to find

the holder of the other half of a favor. It is like clasping hands.

Do let us shake hands on that expression, Mr. Becker. (_They shake

hands warmly._)

MR. BECKER. Yes, women seem to be losing sight of the fact that

their interests are identical with those of men, that, therefore,

they are represented now, and that to vote themselves would only

mean sex antagonism and an increased multiplicity of our already

too numerous ballots.

MRS. BROWN. What is that smell of scorching? Oh, Mr. Becker, I am

afraid it is Cochon in the wood-box. It was too near the fire. Oh,

take him away, quick!

MR. BECKER. (_Lifting pig out of the wood-box._) It is only his

blanket that is slightly scorched. Your pet seems to be all right,

Mrs. Brown.

MRS. BROWN. Oh, my dear little piggy-wiggy. Did his muzzer forget

all about her owny-tony, while she was talking about those horrid

women’s rights? It was a shame, so it was. (_Takes off blanket._)

No, he is not hurt at all. How fortunate!

MR. BECKER. You do not admire Lamb’s Essay on Roast Pig, I take it,

Mrs. Brown?

MRS. BROWN. An Essay on Roast Pig? What a subject. Is it a

cook-book?

MR. BECKER. No, but a very appetizing article. If you should read

it, Mrs. Brown, you would regret that you remembered your pet so

soon. I will send you a copy of the essay.

MRS. BROWN. How cruel you are, Mr. Becker. I was just going to ask

you to call, but now I do not know whether it would be kind to

Cochon.

MR. BECKER. I will call and bring the book with me. We think alike

about roasting Woman Suffrage, why not the same about roasting pigs?

MRS. BROWN. When you see Cochon in his dear little basket with its

blue lining perhaps you will think differently and prefer roast

chicken.

MR. BECKER. We will see. I must go now. I hear Mrs. Thom coming

down-stairs and I do not want to see her again.

MRS. BROWN. You are afraid of a woman after all. You have been

saying that they make life easy like a tire on an automobile.

MR. BECKER. You know what happens when a tire breaks. Mrs. Thom

is a broken tire and I can hear the gas rapidly escaping now.

Good-bye, good-bye. Make my excuses to Mrs. Tilsbury, please. I

shall bring the book very soon. (MR. BECKER _goes out hurriedly by

one door as_ MRS. THOM _and_ MRS. TILSBURY _enter by the other_.)

MRS. THOM. Dear child, how generous she is. Always wanting to

give to “the cause.” I forgot to ask her to make out that check

to my order, because our treasurer has just resigned. She had a

disagreement with an auditor about the way she kept the books and

we have not had time to elect another. Will you tell Mildred,

please?

MRS. TILSBURY. Yes, I’ll tell her. The check to your order as

President of the Association.

MRS. THOM. Now, Mrs. Brown, I hope you are going to give up

fondling that dirty little pig and show yourself to be a true

woman, loyal to the cause of freedom. There is a vacancy in the

Daughters of the Danaïdes—for we keep strictly to a limited number

in our sub-societies. I will propose you, Miss Tilsbury will

second you, and there you are. The dues are ten cents a month, but

of course each member is expected to contribute according to her

means. If you should sell that nicely fattened pig to a butcher,

you could give us a tidy little sum without feeling it.

MRS. BROWN. Mrs. Thom, Cochon has just escaped a terrible death

from the flames. He shall not be handed over to the sword. He shall

not be made a victim to the modern woman’s propensity to desert

the home and children, to philander around after responsibilities

for which she is unfitted by nature. As Mr. Becker just quoted so

beautifully, “Man for the field and woman for the hearth.”

MRS. THOM. Well, it’s the baseball field and golf field then, I

guess. As for the hearth, give me steam heat—it’s cleaner and has

more go to it.

MRS. TILSBURY. Why, where is Mr. Becker?

MRS. BROWN. He has gone home or to his Club. I think that he has

had all of women’s rights that he can stand for one afternoon.

If you make enemies of all the men who have the power to grant

the vote to women, Mrs. Thom, how are you going to obtain it? Get

what you want first and fight the men afterwards, that would be my

advice. I always followed that method with Mr. Brown.

MRS. THOM. You were consistent to the end. You got what you wanted

when your husband died, and you fought his will afterwards. Well,

we don’t follow the methods of the so-called feminine women in

putting forward the cause. We don’t wheedle for our rights. We

demand them.

MRS. BROWN. But if you can’t enforce your demands, what do you do

then?

MRS. THOM. We will follow the example of the Roman women who, when

unjust laws were enacted restricting the cost of their wearing

apparel and jewelry, withdrew to the hill outside of the city, and

stayed away from Rome until the men yielded and let them wear what

they chose.

MRS. TILSBURY. If the men won’t give us the vote, we women will all

go to Paris and stay there until they grant it. How lovely!

MRS. BROWN. What will you live on in Paris if the men refuse to

send funds? The bankers are all men still, my dear.

MRS. THOM. It shows that you have not seriously studied the

subject, Mrs. Brown, or you would not make such foolish remarks.

There is nothing to prevent women from becoming bankers.

MRS. BROWN. Except that they haven’t the gold.

MRS. THOM. They can melt their jewelry. It would be better than

wearing it like a bought Circassian slave.

MRS. BROWN. Well, I think that when all the other women go to

Paris, I shall stay in New York. It would be rather nice to be the

only woman in New York with all the bankers.

MRS. TILSBURY. Don’t think you will be the only one to have that

bright thought, Imogene; you will probably find plenty of other

women staying behind to keep you company.

MRS. THOM. I regret to say it, Mrs. Brown, but women like you are

the drag on the wheel of progress.

MRS. BROWN. Well, that is better than to be a broken tire, Mrs.

Thom; the wheels stop altogether then.

MRS. THOM. A broken tire? I do not understand what you are trying

to say.

MRS. BROWN. Why, Mr. Becker says——

MRS. THOM. I am not interested in what Mr. Becker says. Women who

act as phonographs for men are not in my line. Good-bye, Mrs.

Tilsbury. I will come in to see Mildred in a day or two. Don’t

forget about the check, please. To my order, Mary Henrietta Thom.

MRS. TILSBURY. As President of the Association.

MRS. THOM. If there is room. It isn’t necessary. (MRS. THOM _goes

out, bowing stiffly to_ MRS. BROWN.)

MRS. TILSBURY. Oh dear, she has made Mildred give a larger sum than

ever before. I don’t know what to do—it is a perfect shame.

MRS. BROWN. Start Mildred on something else. You have had enough of

women’s rights.

MRS. TILSBURY. Yes, but everything costs. All the “causes” are

expensive. It doesn’t make any difference whether they are

charitable, socialistic, political, or artistic, they are all in

need of funds. So many appeals come every day that I have been

obliged to buy a bigger scrap-basket and the ash-man has raised

his price. He says old paper is of no use to him unless we have a

currency reform.

MRS. BROWN. Well, a husband would be more expensive still.

MRS. TILSBURY. Yes, to support a husband in a style he has not been

accustomed to is very expensive. Poor Mildred, I don’t see what I

shall do.

MRS. BROWN. I hope you admired the way I carried off Mr. Van Tousel.

MRS. TILSBURY. Well, I don’t know. I thought from the expression on

your face when Mrs. Thom and I came back from seeing Mildred that

you had been flirting more seriously with Mr. Becker. He is not at

all dangerous because he holds such a low opinion about the ability

of women, but Mr. Van Tousel is wriggling his way straight into

Mildred’s heart with his pretended interest in “the cause.”

MRS. BROWN. I must confess I like Mr. Becker best. He is more of

a man and therefore more manageable. Besides there is Mr. Van

Tousel’s mother. She is vice-president in so many societies that

she might want to be president in her son’s house.

MRS. TILSBURY. I wasn’t thinking about your marrying one of them,

Imogene.

MRS. BROWN. I know you were not, but I was. I can’t marry Mr. Van

Tousel, I am afraid, not even for your sake, Josephine, but don’t

worry about him. I do not believe he can ever win Mildred. She is

too sensible to be attracted by him. Mr. Becker is the dangerous

man. Unlike seeks unlike, you know. I will do what I can to change

Mr. Becker’s thoughts, but you must help me. Ask us to dinner

together again.

MRS. TILSBURY. Did you notice how that Slavinsky girl made eyes at

Mr. Van Tousel? She is a horribly bold girl.

MRS. BROWN. Yes, she will probably keep him busy. Now, you have

cleared the field of two suitors in one afternoon, but what will

you do if another man turns up? I can’t divorce Mr. Becker and

start in on some one else in order to protect Mildred; besides that

would leave Mr. Becker free and open to consolation.

MRS. TILSBURY. Oh dear, I don’t know what I shall ever do. I am

worried to death with the complications that have arisen in this

house recently. Here is the cook striking because she says women

are imposed upon in a country where they are not allowed to vote.

She is going out to California, since the franchise has been given

to women there, for she says that although she voted before she

left her home in Norway, she is afraid she will forget how if she

doesn’t keep in practice.

MRS. BROWN. Why, I did not know that one could forget how to vote.

I thought it was like swimming, once learned always remembered. I

have known men who have not voted for years because they forgot to

register or wanted to play golf on election day or some other silly

reason, and then suddenly they would vote again because they said

it was an election that was important for the business interests of

the country. They never seemed to forget how to vote.

MRS. TILSBURY. Helma says it is the same as her cooking. If she

doesn’t make a dish every day or two she loses the knack of it.

George complains awfully when she gives us the same thing too

often, but what can I do? Helma says, too, that she wants to reach

California before the next presidential election because she wishes

to write home how she helped to elect a President of the great

United States.

MRS. BROWN. Well, you can’t mind her leaving if Mr. Tilsbury is

growing tired of her cooking.

MRS. TILSBURY. Yes I do; the next one will probably be worse.

Katy is going away too. She is going to marry right away because

her intended says that if she stays any longer in this house of

insurgents, he won’t marry her at all! Mrs. Thom is working

Mildred for all she is worth, and you are flirting with Mr. Becker

instead of Mr. Van Tousel. George will be so cross when he hears it

all. Everything seems to be in a muddle.

MRS. BROWN. Don’t be so discouraged. I must go now, but I will

run in to-morrow and we will try and arrange something. Perhaps

you might get Mildred interested in collecting postal cards. That

would be a cheap pursuit, unless it was discovered that the ancient

Egyptians used them and you had to pay a fabulous price for a

postal card from Cleopatra to Mark Antony encrusted with pearls.

MRS. TILSBURY. Yes, come to-morrow, Imogene; perhaps you can help me.

MRS. BROWN. Good-bye, dear. Cheer up.

(MRS. BROWN _picks up Cochon and goes out. Curtain_.)