“Yes! We ought to show up those Minneapolis
folks!” Ella Stowbody said acidly. “And
oh, by the way, we must oppose this movement of Mrs.
Potbury’s to have the state clubs come out definitely
in favor of woman suffrage. Women haven’t
any place in politics. They would lose all their
daintiness and charm if they became involved in these
horried plots and log-rolling and all this awful political
stuff about scandal and personalities and so on.”
All—save one—nodded. They
interrupted the formal business-meeting to discuss
Mrs. Edgar Potbury’s husband, Mrs. Potbury’s
income, Mrs. Potbury’s sedan, Mrs. Potbury’s
residence, Mrs. Potbury’s oratorical style,
Mrs. Potbury’s mandarin evening coat, Mrs. Potbury’s
coiffure, and Mrs. Potbury’s altogether reprehensible
influence on the State Federation of Women’s
Clubs.
Before the program committee adjourned they took three
minutes to decide which of the subjects suggested
by the magazine Culture Hints, Furnishings and China,
or The Bible as Literature, would be better for the
coming year. There was one annoying incident.
Mrs. Dr. Kennicott interfered and showed off again.
She commented, “Don’t you think that we
already get enough of the Bible in our churches and
Sunday Schools?”
Mrs. Leonard Warren, somewhat out of order but much
more out of temper, cried, “Well upon my word!
I didn’t suppose there was any one who felt
that we could get enough of the Bible! I guess
if the Grand Old Book has withstood the attacks of
infidels for these two thousand years it is worth
our slight consideration!”
“Oh, I didn’t mean——”
Carol begged. Inasmuch as she did mean, it was
hard to be extremely lucid. “But I wish,
instead of limiting ourselves either to the Bible,
or to anecdotes about the Brothers Adam’s wigs,
which Culture Hints seems to regard as the significant
point about furniture, we could study some of the
really stirring ideas that are springing up today—whether
it’s chemistry or anthropology or labor problems—the
things that are going to mean so terribly much.”
Everybody cleared her polite throat.
Madam Chairman inquired, “Is there any other
discussion? Will some one make a motion to adopt
the suggestion of Vida Sherwin—to take up
Furnishings and China?”
It was adopted, unanimously.
“Checkmate!” murmured Carol, as she held
up her hand.
Had she actually believed that she could plant a seed
of liberalism in the blank wall of mediocrity?
How had she fallen into the folly of trying to plant
anything whatever in a wall so smooth and sun-glazed,
and so satisfying to the happy sleepers within?
One week of authentic spring, one rare sweet
week of May, one tranquil moment between the blast
of winter and the charge of summer. Daily Carol
walked from town into flashing country hysteric with
new life.
