THE COUNCIL CHAMBER
Miss Gibbie would not stay to dinner. "I am fond of you, my dear," she
said, tying the ribbon strings loosely under her chin, "but I might not
be if I had to talk to you after a full meal. And that's the
trouble--you make me talk too much. If you prefer this middle-class
custom of a mid-day dinner, follow it, but don't ask me to join you."
Mary Cary laughed. "I don't think it's middle-class. I think it's nice;
it's Southern." Miss Gibbie's broad-brimmed hat was straightened, the
crumpled ribbons smoothed, the plump cheeks kissed. "And if I didn't
have dinner at two o'clock I couldn't have supper at seven. Thin ham and
beaten biscuits and salads and iced tea and summer things like that are
much nicer then meats and vegetables and desserts on warm nights. I'm
not stylish. I'm just Mary Cary, who loves old-fashioned ways and
things."
"Old-fashioned /ways/ and /things!/" Miss Gibbie's hands
went up. "To-morrow all Yorkburg will be calling you a young woman of
shocking ideas, one who actually knows something about business,
about the town's financial condition and the things it needs and should
have. You will be served at breakfast, dinner, and supper; held up as an
example of the pernicious effects of higher education followed by
foreign travel. To-night you are going to do what has never been done
here before, and who is going to imagine you love old-fashioned ways and
things? A woman has never crossed the threshold of Yorkburg's Council
Chamber--"
"A good many are going to cross it to-night."
Miss Gibbie, who had started to the door, turned. "You mean a good
many have promised. A very different thing. Women are cowards when
it comes to a change of custom. They like their little cages. They would
rather stay in and look on than come out and help. Don't expect too
much of them. They have so long thought as men told them God intended
them to think that it will take time for them to realize the Almighty
may not object to their inquiring if they're thinking right or not.
Good-bye, child. If any fireworks go off, keep your head and send up
a few yourself. Heavens, if I were young!"
As she drove off, Mary Cary waved to her, then turned and stood a
moment in the wide, cool hall, looking first in the library on the
right, the dining-room on the left, at the broad, winding staircase in
front, and through the open door at the end to the orchard, which in the
distance could be glimpsed, and her hands clasped as if to press
closely the happiness that filled her.
It was hers, all hers. The dream of her starved little heart, when, as a
child, she had lived in the Yorkburg Orphan Asylum, had come true. She
had a home of her own.
"And I didn't have to take a husband to get it," she said, nodding her
head. "That's such a satisfaction."
She dropped in the big chintz-covered chair and, with elbows on its
arms and finger-tips pressed to cheeks, surveyed critically the size and
shape and furnishings of the rooms, then sighed in happy content.
"It's such a pity so many people still think a home /must/ have a
man in it. If a man belongs to you and is nice he might make the home
nicer, but"--she shook her head--"Mrs. McDougal says there are times
when a husband is a great trial. I haven't any brothers or a father,
and I don't want to risk a trial yet. The reason most homes need men
is because men mean money, I suppose. You can't sneeze without needing
money. And yet"--she looked around--"everything in this house didn't
cost as much as the rug Mrs. Maxwell has on her drawing-room floor. I
don't wonder John loathes his house. You can't really see the price-tags
on the things in it, but you're certain you could find them if you had
the chance to look. I wonder where John's letter is?" She got up and
went into the library, turned over papers and magazines on desk and
tables, then rang for Hedwig.
"The mail?" she said. "Where did you put the letters this morning?"
Hedwig shook her head. "There no letters were this morning, mein
Fraulein. Not one at all."
"That's queer! All right." Hedwig was waved away. "I wonder if anything
is the matter? Of course there isn't--only--there haven't been three
Mondays since I left here that John's letter didn't come on the early
mail." She straightened a rose that was falling out of a jar and stood
off to watch the effect. "Nobody but John would write every week, when
I don't write once in four--don't even read his letters for days after
they come, sometimes. But I like to know they're here. I believe"--she
clasped her hands behind her head--"I believe I wish I had let him come
down to-night. No, I don't. But why didn't he write? He ought to have
known--" She turned away. "It would serve me right if he never wrote
again."
By seven o'clock she was on her way to the monthly meeting of the
town council, which meeting was always held on the second Monday
evening in the month, and as she started off she waved to Hedwig,
standing in the door.
"Telephone Miss Gibbie not to sit up for me," she called back. "I'm
going to stay all night with her, but it may be late before I get there.
Don't forget!" And again the hand was waved; and as she drove down
the dusty road, Ephraim beside her, the uncertainty of the morning
faded and her spirits rose at the prospect of the experience awaiting.
"You see," she thought to herself, "I've had the advantage of being poor
and not expecting things to go just as I want them, so it takes a great
deal to discourage me. When you're dealing with human nature it's the
unexpected you must expect. 'Human nature are a rascal,' Mrs.
McDougal says, and Mrs. McDougal's observations come terribly near
being true." She laughed and whistled softly, but at Ephraim's discreet
cough stopped and turned toward him.
"I oughtn't to do it, ought I, Ephraim? It isn't nice. I am afraid I
forget sometimes I am really and truly grown up."
"I reckon you does." Ephraim touched his hat. "You's right smart of a
child yet in some things, 'count of yo' young heart, I reckon. I ain't
never seen nobody who could see the sunny side like you kin, but it
ain't all sunny, Miss Mary, this worl' ain't, and there's a lot of pesky
people in it." He coughed again. "Sometimes folks seem to forgit you is
your grandpa's grandchild. Yo' grandpa was the high-steppinist gentleman
I ever seen in my life, but since you been goin' down among them mill
folks and factory folks and takin' an intrus' in 'em, lookin' into how
things is, some of them King Street people seem to think, scusin' of my
sayin' it, that maybe it's yo' father's blood what's comin' out in you."
Mary Cary laughed. "I hope it is. My father was a very sensible
gentleman, and didn't ask others what he must or must not do. But his
people in England would be more shocked than--" She stopped and her
lips twisted in a queer little smile. "Put me down here, Ephraim. I
am going first to Mrs. Corbin's."
Twenty minutes later she and Mrs. Corbin walked up the stops of the
side entrance of the town hall into the room where all public meetings
were held, and where all business connected with the town's interest
was transacted. As they reached the top the hum of many voices
greeted them. The narrow passageway was half filled with men. Some
were standing, hands in pockets; some, balancing themselves on the
railing, with feet twisted around its spokes, held their hands loosely
clasped in front, while others leaned against the wall, scribbled over
with pencil-marks and finger-prints of varying sizes, and ahead, through
the open door, could be seen both men and women.
As they came nearer, those on the railing jumped down; those leaning
against the wall straightened, and those in front made way, while hats
came off and spitting ceased.
"Good-evening," she said. "We are going to have a mice meeting, aren't
we?" She held out her hand. "How do you do, Mr. Jernigan. Is Jamie
better to-night?"
"Yes, ma'am; thank you, ma'am. He's right sharp better to-night. He's
pleased as Punch over those drawings things you sent him. Been at 'em
all day."
"That's good." She reached the door, them turned, taking off her long,
light coat which covered the white dress. "Aren't you men coming in?"
"Yes'm--that is, those of us what can." It was Mr. Flournoy, foreman
of the woolen mills, who spoke. "There ain't much room in there left
and they say some more ladies is coming, so we thought we might as
well stay out as come out. We can hear all right."
"I'm sorry. The women ought not to take the men's places. Can't you--"
"Oh, that's all right." Mr. Jernigan waved his hat toward her. "We done
our work before we come here. Ain't a man in the council what don't
know how we stand, and what we won't do for them is a plenty if they
don't tote square. You just go on in, Miss Cary--you and Mrs. Corbin."
As they entered the room there was much uprising and many seats were
offered, but with a nod here and there they made their way toward a
window near which Mrs. Webb and Mrs. Moon were sitting and took
two chairs which had been kept for them. To the left were Mrs. Brent
and Mrs. Burnham, to the right Miss Mittie Muncaster and Mrs. Dunn,
while behind was Miss Amelia Taylor, president of the Mother's Club,
with Miss Victor Redway, the new kindergarten teacher from Kentucky.
A dozen other women, scattered in groups here and there, were
whispering as if at a home funeral, and along the walls men, ranged in
rows, hats in hands, chewed with something of nervous uncertainty as to
the wisdom of the innovation which they were about to witness. In a
large chair on a small platform Mr. Chinn, president of the council,
sat in solemn silence, gavel in hand, waiting for the hour to strike,
and for once in its history all ten of the city fathers were on time
and in place.
"You may not mind this, Mary, but I do," said Mrs. Moon half under her
breath. "I'm not used to these new-fashioned ways of doing things. I
feel like I haven't got on all my clothes. I came because you told me I
ought to, and of course women should take interest in things of this
sort, but I don't like it. I--"
"Then you were dear to come." And Mary gave the soft, pretty hands a
squeeze. "I don't like it either, but neither do I like Yorkburg's not
having a high school. Don't look so uneasy. Nobody is going to bite.
Have you seen Mr. Milligan? A frog couldn't look more like a frog.
He'll pop presently, he's so pleased about something. There--they're
going to begin."
She leaned back in her chair, and as Mr. Chinn rose in his seat and
rapped on the table the crowd in the passage pressed closer to the
door. All who could came inside, but no longer was there standing-
room, and the air that might have come through the open windows was
kept back by the men who had climbed up in them and were swinging
their feet below.
The gavel again sounded. "The meeting will come to order!"
Mr. Chinn, in his long frock-coat and white string tie, stood a moment
surveying with mournful eye the crowded room, and in his voice as he
repeated "The meeting will come to order!" was the assurance that all
flesh is as grass, and though in a field it may flourish it will finally
be cut down.
But not yet could the meeting come to order. As Mr. Simson, the clerk,
stood up and began to call the roll there was the shuffle of many feet
in the hall and the men near the door parted to make way for late but
determined arrivals.
"Mrs. McDougal and every blessed member of her family!"
Under her breath Mary Cary laughed, then beckoned, and in pressed
Mrs. McDougal and made her way toward the platform, undismayed by
the gazing, smiling crowd. Behind were her five boys and four girls,
and behind them Mr. McDougal, but in the shelter of Mr. Blick's broad
back Mr. McDougal stopped and was seen no more.
But Mrs. McDougal was seen. Ushering the children ahead, she placed
them one by one on the edge of the platform, at the feet of Mr. Chinn,
all but Susie, who with flaming face had sought refuge on half of Mary
Cary's chair, then she waved to Mr. Simson, the clerk.
"Please hold on a minute, Mr. Simson," she called. "I'm awful sorry
we're late, but them five voters to be was hard to get fixed in time.
They know what they're here for and I don't want 'em to miss a word. Sit
still there, Jeff!" She jabbed the latter, who was wriggling, back in
his place and took from Billy the cap he was nervously chewing, then
seating herself between the younger set of twins she again waved her
hand.
"Now you can go on."
Thus permitted, Mr. Simson began the reading of the minutes of the last
meeting in quick staccato sentences, and as he took his seat Mr. Chinn
again sounded the gavel and in an attitude of resignation asked of there
were corrections.
None being suggested, the minutes were approved. The regular business
of the meeting forthwith began, and the atmosphere, which had been a
little tense, relaxed. As if to show his ease and familiarity with an
unusual situation, Mr. Mowry cut off a large piece of tobacco, crossed
his hands behind his head, and lifted his right leg on the top of the
small oak desk which was supposed to contain pen and paper for personal
use, but which had thus far served only as a footstool; and as he did
so he winked at young Armitage, whose face was a fiery flame, and
whose hands, wet with perspiration, were twisting in nervous knots a
handkerchief of highly colored border.
Little by little routine matters were disposed of, and, finally, there
being no further excuse for delay, the call for new business was made
and Mr. Milligan arose. With fingers in the armholes of his vest, with
shoulders back and chest expanded, he bowed with smiling eyes to the
platform, to the crowded room, to the ladies at his right, and as he
bowed there was stir and rustle and the straining forward of necks and
heads.
"Mr. President"--his heels were lifted from the floor and he balanced
himself on tiptoe--"Mr. President, members of the Yorkburg Council,
fellow-citizens, and ladies"--again he bowed profoundly--"a
distinguished honor has been bestowed upon me to-night, and as long as
life shall last I will look back upon this occasion as the proudest
moment of my life. We have met to-night not only to do our plain duty as
citizens of a noble town, but to look with far-seeing eyes into that
great future which stretches endlessly and forever on, and which can be
made as beautiful as--er, as--er the New Jerusalem or--er, or--er
Richmond or New York. We must show the watching world that we citizens
of old Yorkburg"--his right hand made a wide inclusive sweep--"we
citizens are awake, are up and looking around. We are no longer dead
poor. Money is nine-tenths of much in life, but the other tenth is a
busting big part. It's made of sense and hustle, and it's up to us to
prove it! We've been excusin' of ourselves by saying poverty has
paralyzed us, and we couldn't do this and we couldn't do that, because
we didn't have the cash. Well, I'm here to say it ain't so. What we've
been lackin' ain't so much the money as the spirit, and it's took a
woman to make us find it out."
Back from the windows came a clapping of hands, from the doors a
stamping of feet, and in the enforced pause Mr. Milligan wiped his
shining face and swallowed hastily from the glass of water on the table.
"In my poor way, members of the Yorkburg Council," he began again--
this time fingers interlaced and resting on his breast--"in my poor way
I am here to present this lady to you. She don't need to be introduced
to man, woman, or child in this community. She used to live here, and
when she went away something left Yorkburg that everybody wished
would come back. 'Twas a sort of sunshine. We didn't think she'd ever
find the way back. There was a heap to make her forget, but she didn't
forget. Love found the way, and she's back. Since she left she's seen a
lot of life. She's been around the world, in the big cities and the
little cities, and she's kept her eyes open and her mind open and her
heart open, and there's much she could tell about what's wrong with us,
but that ain't her way. She is here to-night to bring some matters to
your attention which I hope you will consider with intelligence and
appreciation, and just here I'd like to say that even if I didn't know
what they were I would say in advance, 'You could put my vote down for
'em, Mr. Clerk.' I ain't saying all women have business sense. They
ain't got it, but when they have, it's the far-seeingest sense on earth,
and there ain't a star in the heavens a man can't climb to when a woman
of that kind gives him a lift!"
Again a shuffle of feet, but Mr. Chinn's gavel came down heavily. He
turned in his chair and looked first at Mr. Milligan and then at the
clock.
"Oh, I know I'm talking too long, but, being started, it's hard to
stop," and Mr. Milligan wiped his perspiring face and nodded
good-naturedly at solemn Mr. Chinn. "I'm through, but I know I voice
the sentiments of every member of this honorable body when I say it is
highly honored by the presence here to-night of lovely woman! What would
life be without her? As babies, she borns us; as boys, she bosses us;
as men, she owns us; at death, she buries us, and she alone puts flowers
on man's grave! Man was made to do her bidding, Mr. President, and if
he's smart he'll do it quick. Members of the council, ladies, and
gentlemen, I have the honor of presenting to you Miss Mary Cary, the
granddaughter of a once chief justice of England and of Mayor Alden, a
distinguished citizen of Virginia."