XV
THE Governor of the great State of New York was now running up Broadwaywith his borrowed sword between his legs and his borrowed uniform coveredwith confetti--footing it as earnestly as though he were running behindhis ticket with New York County yet to hear from.
After him sped bricks, vegetables, spot-eggs, and several exceedinglyfashionable suffragettes, their perfectly gloved hands full ofhorsewhips, banners, and farm produce.
But his excellency was now running strongly; one by one his eager andbeautiful pursuers gave up the chase and fell out, panting and flushedfrom the exciting and exhilarating sport, until, at Forty-second Street,only one fleet-footed young girl remained at his heels.
The order of precedence then shifted as follows: First, the young andhandsome Governor running like a lost dog at a fair and clutching thedraft of the obnoxious bill to his gold-laced bosom; second, onedistractingly lovely young girl, big, wholesome-looking, athletic, andpink of cheeks, swinging a ci-devant cat by the tail as menacingly asDavid balanced the loaded sling; third, several agitated policemenwhistling and rapping for assistance; fourth, the hoi polloi of the ViaBlanca; fifth, a small polychromatic dog; sixth, the idle wind toyingcarelessly with the dust and refuse and hats and skirts of all Broadway.
"Only one fleet-footed young girl remained at hisheels."]
This municipal dust storm, mingling with the brooding metropolitangasoline fog, produced a sirocco of which no Libyan desert needed to beashamed; and it alternately blotted out and revealed the interestingMarathonian procession, until one capricious and suffocating flurry,full of whirling newspapers and derbies, completely blotted out theGovernor and the young lady at his heels.
And when, a moment later, the miniature tornado had subsided into aseries of playful sidewalk eddys, only the policemen, the hoi polloi, andthe dog were still going; the Governor and the beautiful suffragette hadcompletely disappeared.
They had, it is true, chosen a very good time and place for such anoccult performance; Long Acre at its busiest.
Several mounted policemen had now joined in the frantic festivities. Theygalloped hurriedly in every direction. The crowd cheered and pursued thepolice, the small dog barked in eddying circles till he resembled anexpiring pinwheel.
Meanwhile a curious thing had occurred; the youthful Governor was nowchasing the suffragette. It occurred abruptly, and in the followingmanner:
No sooner had the dust cloud spread a momentary fog around the radiantyoung man--like a hurricane eclipse of the sun--than he darted into thenarrow and dark hallway of an old-fashioned office building devoted totheatrical agencies, all-night lawyers, and "astrologists," and startedup the stairs. But his unaccustomed sword tripped him up, and as he fellflat with a startling outcrash of accoutrements, there came a flurry ofdelicately perfumed skirts, the type-written papers were snatched fromhis gloved hands, and the perfumed skirts went scurrying away through thedusky corridor which ought to have opened on the next cross street. Anddidn't.
After her ran the Governor, now goaded to courage by the loss of hispapers, and she, finding herself in a cul-de-sac, turned at bay, launchedthe cat at his head, and attempted to spring past him. But he caught thewhirling feline in one white-gloved hand and barred her way with theother; and she turned once more in desperation to seek an egress whichdid not exist.
A flight of precipitate and rickety stairs led upward into an obscurityrendered deeper by a single gas jet burning low on the landing above.
Up this she sprang, two at a time, the young man at her heels; up, up,passing floor after floor, until a dirty skylight overhead warned herthat the race was ending.
On the top corridor there was a door ajar; she sprang for it, opened it,tried to slam and lock it behind her, then, exhausted, she shrankbackward into the room and sank into a red velvet chair, holding thebunch of papers tightly to her heaving breast.
There was another chair--a gilt one. Into it fell his excellency,gasping, speechless, his spurred and booted legs trailing, his borroweduniform all over confetti and dust from his tumble on the stairs.
Minute after minute elapsed as they lay there, fighting for breath,watching each other.
She was the first to stir; and instantly he dragged himself to his feet,staggered over to the door, locked it, dropped the key into his pocket,returned to his chair, and collapsed once more.
After a few moments he glanced down at the cat which he was stillclutching. A slight shiver passed over him, then, as he inspected it moreclosely, over his features crept an ironical smile.
For the cat was not even a ci-devant cat; it had never been a cat; itwas only an imitation of a defunct one made out of floss and chenille,like a teddy-bear; and he smiled at her scornfully and dangled it by itsblack and white tail.
"Pooh," he panted; "I suppose even your bricks and vegetables and eggswere cotillion favours full of confetti."
"They were," she admitted defiantly. "Which did not prevent their servingtheir purposes."
"As what?"
"As symbols!"
"Symbols?" he retorted in derision.
"Yes, symbols! The three most ancient symbols of an insulted people'sfury--the egg, the turnip, and the cat."
"_Mala gallina, malum ovum_," he laughed, adjusting his sword and pickingseveral streamers of confetti from his tunic. "Did they hurl spot-eggs inancient Rome, fair maid?"
"They did; and cats--_ex necessitate rei_," she observed with composure.
"_Ex nihilo felis fit_--a cat-fit for nothing," he retorted, flippantly.
Half disdainfully she straightened out the slight disorder of her ownapparel, still breathing fast, and keeping tight hold of the bundle ofpapers.
"How soon are you going to let me have them?" he asked good-humouredly.
"Never."
"I can't permit you to leave this room until you hand them to me."
"Then I shall never leave this room."
"You certainly shall not leave it until I have those papers."
"Then I'll remain here all my life!" she said defiantly.
"What do you expect to do when the people who live here return?"
She shrugged her pretty shoulders, and presently cast an involuntary anduneasy glance around the room.
It was not a place to reassure any girl; gilt stars were pasted all overwalls and ceilings, where also a tinsel sun and moon appeared. Theconstellations were interspersed with bats.
The remaining decorations consisted of a cozy corner, some pasteboardtrophies, red cotton velvet hangings, several plaster casts of humanhands, and a frieze of half-burnt cigarettes along the mantel-edge.
"Are you going to give me those papers?" he repeated, secretly amused.
"No."
"What do you expect to do with them?"
"Deliver them to Professor Elizabeth Challis, President of the NationalFederation of Independent Women of America."
"Is this a private enterprise of yours," he asked curiously, "or justa--a playful impulse, or the militant fruition of a vast and feminineconspiracy?"
She smiled slightly.
"I suppose you mean to be impertinent, but I shall not evade answeringyou, Captain Jones. I am acting under orders."
"Betty's?" he inquired, flippantly.
"The orders of Professor Elizabeth Challis," she said, with heightenedcolour.
"Exactly. It _is_ a conspiracy, then, complicated by riot, assault,disorderly conduct, and highway robbery--isn't it?"
"You may call it what you choose."
"Oh, I'll leave that to the courts."
She said disdainfully: "We recognize no laws in the making of which wehave had no part."
"There's no use in discussing that," said the Governor blandly; "but I'dlike to know what you suffragettes find so distasteful in that proposedbill which the Mayor and--and the Governor of New York have had drafted."
"It is reactionary--a miserable subterfuge--a treacherous attempt toreturn to the old order of things! A conspiracy to re-shackle, re-enslav
eAmerican womanhood with the sordid chains of domestic cares! To drive herback into the kitchen, the laundry, the nursery--back into the dark agesof dependence and acquiescence and non-resistance--back into the degradedepochs of sentimental relations with the tyrant man!"
She leaned forward in her excitement and her sable boa slid back as shemade a gesture with her expensive muff.
"Once," she said, "woman was so ignorant that she married for love! Nowthe national revolt has come. Neither sentiment nor impulse nor emotionshall ever again play any part in our relations with man!"
He said, trying to speak ironically: "That's a gay outlook, isn't it?"
"The outlook, Captain Jones, is straight into a glorious millennium.Marriage, in the future, is to mean the regeneration of the human racethrough cold-blooded selection in mating. Only the physically andmentally perfect will hereafter be selected as specimens for scientificpropagation. All others must remain unmated--_pro bono publico_--and soultimately human imperfection shall utterly disappear from this world!"
Her pretty enthusiasm, her earnestness, the delicious colour in hercheeks, began to fascinate him. Then uneasiness returned.
"Do you know," he said cautiously, "that the Governor of New York hasreceived anonymous letters informing him that Professor Elizabeth Challisconsiders him a proper specimen for the--the t-t-terrible purposes ofs-s-scientific p-p-propagation?"
"Some traitor in our camp," she said, "wrote those letters."
"It--it isn't true, then, is it?"
"What isn't true?"
"That the Governor of the great State of New York is in any danger ofbeing seized for any such purpose?"
She looked at him with a curious veiled expression in her pretty eyes, asthough she were near-sighted.
"I think," she said, "Professor Challis means to seize him."
The Governor gazed at her, horrified for a moment, then his politicalcraft came to his aid, and he laughed.
"What does she look like?" he inquired. "Is she rather a tough old lady?"
"No; she's young and--athletic."
"Barrel-shaped?"
"Oh, she's as tall as the Governor is--about six feet, I believe."
"Nonsense!" he exclaimed, paling.
"Six feet," she repeated carelessly; "rowed stroke at Vassar; carried offthe standing long jump, pole vault, and ten-mile swimming----"
"This--this is terrible," murmured the young man, passing one glovedhand over his dampening brow. Then, with a desperate attempt at a smile,he leaned forward and said confidentially:
"As a matter of fact, just between you and me, the Governor is aninvalid."
"Impossible!" she retorted, her clear blue eyes on his.
"Alas! It is only too true. He's got a very, very rare disease," said theyoung man sadly. "Promise you won't tell?"
"Y-yes," said the girl. Her face had lost some of its colour.
"Then I will confide in you," said the young man impressively. "TheGovernor is threatened with a serious cardiac affection, known asLamour's disease."
She looked down, remained silent for a moment, then lifted her pure gazeto him.
"Is that true--Captain Jones?"
"As true as that I am his Military Secretary."
Her features remained expressionless, but the colour came back as thoughthe worst of the shock were over.
"I see," she said seriously. "Professor Challis ought to know of thissad condition of affairs. I have heard of Lamour's disease."
"Indeed, she ought to be told at once," he said, delighted. "You'llinform her, won't you?"
"If you wish."
"Thank you! _Thank_ you!" he said fervently. "You are certainly the mostcharmingly reasonable of your delightful sex. The Governor will betremendously obliged to you----"
"Is the Governor--are his--his affections--to use an obsoleteexpression--fixed upon any particular----"
"Oh, no!" he said, smiling; "the Governor isn't inlove--except--er--generally. He's a gay bird. The Governor never, in allhis career, saw a single specimen of your sex which--well, whichinterested him as much--well, for example," he added in a burst ofconfidence, "as much even as you interest me!"
"Which, of course, is not at all," she said, laughing.
"Oh, no--no, not at all----" he hesitated, biting his moustache andlooking at her.
"I'll tell you one thing," he said; "if the Governor ever did getentirely well--er--recovered--you know what I mean?"
"Cured of his cardiac trouble?--this disease known as Lamour's disease?"
"Exactly. If he ever did recover, he--I'm quite sure he would be----" andhere he hesitated, gazing at her in silence. As for her, she had turnedher head and was gazing out of the window.
"I wonder what your name is?" he said, so naively that the colour tintedeven the tip of the small ear turned toward him.
"My name," she said, "is Mary Smith. Like you, I am Militant Secretary toProfessor Elizabeth Challis, President of the Federation of AmericanWomen."
"I hope we will remain on pleasant terms," he ventured.
"I hope so, Captain Jones."
"Non-combatants?"
"I trust so."
"Even f-friends?"
She bent her distractingly pretty head in acquiescence.
"Then you'll give me back the papers?"
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry for taking them?"
"No, sorry for keeping them."
"You don't mean to say that you are going to keep them, Miss Smith?"
"I'm afraid I must. My duty forces me to deliver them to ProfessorChallis."
"But why does this terrible and strapping young lady desire to swipe thedraft of this bill?"
"Because it contains the evidence of a wicked conspiracy between theGovernor of New York, the Mayor of this city, and an abandonedlegislature. The women of America ought to know what threatens thembefore this bill is perfected and introduced. And before they will permitit to be debated and passed they are determined to march on Albany, halfa million strong, as did the heroines of Versailles!"
She stretched out her white gloved hand with an excited but gracefulgesture; he eyed her moodily, swinging the chenille cat by its fluffytail.
"What do they suspect is in that bill?" he said at last.
"We are not yet perfectly sure. We believe it is an insidious attempt tosow dissension in the ranks of our sex--a bill cunningly devised tocreate jealousy and unworthy distrust among us--an ingenious and inhumanconspiracy to disorganize the National Federation of Free and IndependentWomen."
"Nonsense," he said. "The bill, when perfected, is designed to give youwhat you want."
"What!"
"Certainly; votes for women."
"On what terms?" she asked, incredulously.
"Terms? Oh, no particular terms. I wouldn't call them 'terms,'" he saidcraftily; "that sounds like masculine dictation."
"It certainly does."
"Of course. There are no terms in it. It's a--a sort of a civil serviceidea--a kind of a qualification for the franchise----"
"Oh!"
"Yes," he continued pleasantly, "it a--er--suggests that a vote beaccorded to any woman who, in competition with others of that electiondistrict, passes the examinations----"
"_What_ examinations?"
He twirled the cat carelessly.
"Oh, the examination papers are on various subjects. One is chemistry."
"Chemistry?"
"Yes--that part of organic chemistry which includes the scientificpreparation of--er--food."
Her eyes flashed; he twirled the cat absently.
"Yes," he said, "chemistry is one of the subjects. Physics isanother--physical phenomena."
"What kind?"
"Oh, the--the proposition that nature abhors a vacuum. You're to proveit--you're given a certain area--say a bed-room full of dust. Then youapply to it----"
"I see," she said; "you mean we apply to it a vacuum cleaner, don't you?"
"Or," he admitted courteously, "you may solve it
through the science ofdynamics----"
"Of course--using a broom." Her eyes were beautiful but frosty.
"Do you know," he said, as pleasantly as he dared, "that you, forinstance, would be sure to pass."
"Because I'm intelligent enough to comprehend the subtleties ofthis--bill?"
"Exactly." He swung the cat in a circle.
"Thank you. And what else do these examination papers contain?"
"Physics mostly--the properties of solid bodies. For example, you choosea button--any ordinary button," he explained frankly, as though takingher into his confidence; "say, for instance, the plain bone button ofcommerce----"
"And sew it onto some masculine shirt," she nodded as he sank backapparently overcome with admiration at her intelligence. "And that," sheadded, "no doubt is intended to illustrate the phenomenon of adhesion."
"You are perfectly correct," he said with enthusiasm.
"What else is there?" she asked.
"Oh, nothing--nothing very much. A few experiments in bacteriology----"
"Sterilizing nursing bottles?"
"How on earth did you ever guess?" he cried, overwhelmed, but perfectlyalert to the kindling anger in her blue eyes. "Why, of course that isit. It is included in the science of embryotics--"
"What science?"
"Embryotics. For instance, you take an embryo of any kind--say a--a baby.Then you show exactly how to dress, undress, wash, feed, and finallybring that baby to triumphant maturity. It's interesting, isn't it, MissSmith?"
She said nothing. He twirled the cat furiously until its tail gave wayand it flew into a corner.
"Captain Jones," she said, "as I understand it, this bill is a codifiedconspiracy to turn every woman of this State into a--a washer of clothes,a cleaner of floors, a bearer of children--and a Haus-frau!"
"I--I would not put it _that_ way," he protested.
"And her reward," she went on, not noticing his interruption, "ispermission to vote--to use the inalienable liberty with which alreadyHeaven has endowed her."
Tears flashed in her eyes; she held her small head proudly and not onefell.
"Captain Jones," she said, "do you realize what centuries of suppressionare doing to my sex? Do you understand that woman is degenerating intoan immobility--an inertia--a molluskular condition of receptive passivitywhich is rendering us, year by year, more unfitted to either think or actfor ourselves? Even in the matter of marriage we are not permitted bycustom to assume the initiative. We may only shake our heads until theman we are inclined toward asks us, when he is entirely ready to ask.Then, like a row of Chinese dolls, we nod our heads. I tell you," shesaid, tremulously, "we are becoming like that horrid, degenerate,wingless moth which is born, mates, and dies in one spot--a livingmechanical incubator--a poor, deformed, senseless thing that has throughgenerations lost not only the use, but even the rudiments of the wingswhich she once possessed. But the male moth flies more strongly andfrivolously than ever. There is nothing the matter with the developmentof _his_ wings, Captain Jones."
The Gay Rebellion Page 16
