Look the exhibit over.  It is made, you at once recognize, by women of character, position, and sense.  They have simply found certain masculine ways to their liking and adopted them.  The probability is that if anybody should object to their habits, many of them would be as bewildered as are the great majority of Americans by the demonstration that “nice” women can smoke and think nothing of it!

The cigarette, the boot, and much of the talk are only by-products of the woman’s invasion of the man’s world.  She did not set out to win these spoils.  They came to her in the campaign!

The objects of her attack were things she considered more fundamental.  She was dissatisfied with the way her brain was being trained, her time employed, her influence directed.  “Give us the man’s way,” was her demand, “then we shall understand real things, can fill our days with important tasks, will count as human beings.”

There was no uncertainty in her notion of how this was to be accomplished.  A woman rarely feels uncertainty about methods.  She instinctively sees a way and follows it with assurance.  Half her irritation against man has always been that he is a spendthrift with time and talk.  Madame Roland, sitting at her sewing table listening to the excited debate of the Revolutionists in her salon, mourned that though the ideas were many, the resulting measures were few.  It is the woman’s eternal complaint against discussion—­nothing comes of it.  In a country like our own, where reflection usually follows action, the woman’s natural mental attitude is exaggerated.  It is one reason why we have so few houses where there is anything like conversation, why with us the salon as an institution is out of question.  The woman wants immediately to incorporate her ideas.  She is not interested in turning them over, letting her mind play with them.  She has no patience with other points of view than her own.  They are wrong—­therefore why consider them?  She detests uncertainties—­questions which cannot be settled.  Only by man and the rare woman is it accepted that talk is a good enough end in itself.

The strength of woman’s attack on man’s life, apart from the essential soundness of the impulse which drove her to make it, lay then in its directness and practicality.  She began by asking to be educated in the same way that man educated himself.  Preferably she would enter his classroom, or if that was denied her, she would follow the “just-as-good” curriculum of the college founded for her.  In the last sixty or seventy years tens of thousands of women have been students in American universities, colleges, and technical schools, taking there the same training as men.  In the last twenty years the annual crescendo of numbers has been amazing; over ten thousand at the beginning of the period, over fifty-two thousand at the end.  Over eight thousand degrees were given to women in 1910, nearly half as many as were given to men.  Fully four fifths of these women students and graduates have worked side by side with men in schools which served both equally.