"How could you? The idea!"
"I mean motors, not dogs."
"Oh! Of course!"
They had been brought a little together.
"You go in for dogs?" asked the flapper.
He hesitated. "Going in" for dogs seemed to mean more. "I've got only
one just now," he confessed.
Wooded hills flew by them, the white road flickered forward to their
wheels.
"You interested in the movement?" demanded the flapper again.
"Yes," he said.
"Granny will be delighted to know that. So many young men aren't."
"What make is it?" he inquired, preparing to look enlightened when told
the name of the vehicle in which they rode.
"Oh, I mean the Movement--_the_ movement!"
"Oh, yes," he faltered. "Greatly interested!" He remembered the badge on
her jacket, and Bulger's warning about Grandma, the Demon.
"Granny and I marched in the parade this year, clear down to Washington
Square. If she wasn't so old we'd both run over to London and get
arrested in the Strand for breaking windows."
Bean shuddered.
"We're making our flag now for the next parade--big blue cloth with a
gold star for every state that has raised woman from her degradation by
giving her a vote."
He shuddered again. Although of legal years for the franchise, he had
never voted. If you tried to vote some ward-heeler would challenge you
and you'd like as not be hauled off to the lock-up. And what was the
good of it! The politicians got what they wanted.
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