Making People Happy. Buchanan Thompson
Mrs. Flynn, the militant suffragette, was up, her face belligerent.
"Pardon me, but the honor belongs to me," she snapped, regarding the first claimant with a fierce indignation that was returned in kind. Most of the others were too confounded for speech, but Mrs. Morton rose to support her candidate's claims.
"Pray pardon me," she began placatingly, "but probably Mrs. Flynn does not understand. The interpretation of parliamentary law in England may be quite different. Probably, it is. The customs of that country vary widely from ours in many respects. So, they probably do in the matter of elections in clubs. Now, I belong to ten clubs – American clubs – and I assure you that, according to the parliamentary law in every one of those ten clubs, Mrs. Carrington is certainly elected."
This advocacy was, naturally, a challenge to Miss Johnson, who promptly rose up to champion her own candidate.
"Mrs. Carrington, I am sure, has no desire to take advantage of a distinguished stranger within our gates – and one who has served as gloriously in the cause as Mrs. Flynn – but, even if someone – " she regarded Mrs. Morton with great significance – "I say, even if someone should wish to take unfair advantage of a technicality, it would be altogether impossible, for my amendment to the original motion was carried – unanimously! Mrs. Flynn is the president of the club, duly elected."
Some hazy notion of parliamentary procedure moved Mrs. Flynn to a suggestion.
"I think the matter might best be settled by the chair," she said, doubtfully. "The chair put the motion. Let us then leave the decision to Madam Chairman." Mrs. Carrington nodded a stately agreement to the proposal, and the company as a whole appeared vastly relieved, with the exceptions of Miss Johnson, who sniffed defiantly, and of Ruth, who appeared more than ever bewildered by the succession of events.
Now, at last, Cicily felt herself baffled by the crisis of her own making. She looked from one to another with reproach in her amber eyes.
"But – but you cannot expect me to decide between my guests," she espostulated. There was appeal for relief in the pathetic droop of the scarlet lips of the bride, but it was of no avail. The company asserted with vehemence that she must render the decision in this unfortunate dilemma… And, again, the angel of inspiration whispered a solution of the difficulty. Impulsive as ever, a radiant smile curved her mouth, and her eyes shone happily.
"Very well," she yielded. "Since you insist on putting your hostess in such an unfortunate position, I decide that it is up to the ladies themselves. Which one wishes to take the office, to force herself forward against the wishes of the other?" She cast a seemingly guileless glance of inquiry first on Mrs. Carrington, then on Mrs. Flynn, who simultaneously uttered exclamations of indignation at the imputation thus laid upon them.
Mrs. Carrington was quick to make explicit answer.
"If the ladies of the club do not desire me to be president, I must decline to accept the office, in spite of a unanimous vote. If, however – " She broke off to stare accusingly at her rival, then about the room in search of encouragement for her claims.
Mrs. Flynn took advantage of the opportunity for speech in her own behalf.
"Naturally, as a stranger, I hesitate to force myself forward, even though my record is such that it is hard to see how any opposition could possibly develop against me. However – "
"Of course, Mrs. Carrington is elected," Mrs. Morton interrupted.
At the same time, Miss Johnson urged aggressiveness on her candidate.
"Don't back down," she implored. "Remember the policeman!"
Mrs. Carrington muttered maliciously, as she caught the words.
"In view of Mrs. Flynn's record," she began, "I scarcely feel justified – " Her mock humility was copied by Mrs. Flynn on the instant.
"As a stranger, I cannot force myself – "
The presiding officer decided that this was in truth the psychological moment in which to dominate the situation.
"Indeed, the chair appreciates the rare quality of your self-denial," she announced in an authoritative voice that commanded the respectful attention of all. "Now, ladies," she continued with an air of grave rebuke, "you see what comes of putting your hostess in such an unfortunate position as compelling her to force on one of her guests something she doesn't want. Mrs. Carrington and Mrs. Flynn, both, are my friends and my guests as well, and I must certainly decline to embarrass them further in this matter. The only thing I can do, since neither of them is willing to take the presidency, is regretfully to accept it myself. So, I will be president, and I do now so declare myself."
At this astounding decision, Mrs. Carrington and Mrs. Flynn sank down in their chairs, too dumfounded to protest: but their distress, along with the similar emotion of Mrs. Morton and Miss Johnson, was not observed by the others in the general hubbub of enthusiasm aroused by the new Solomon come to judgment. After an interval of tumultuous cheering, there came demand for a speech by the newly fleeted president… Cicily acceded, after due urging.
"I'm ever so much obliged to you," she declared, and kissed her hands gracefully to her fellow club-members. Thereat, the applause was of the briskest. "Really, I am," she made assurance, and wafted another kiss. On this occasion, the applause was of even greater volume than ever before, although four of those present did not join in the ovation to the new chief executive. "Yes, really – truly!" Cicily went on, fluently. "And I think this is a wonderful club we have started. We need a club. It gives us – us married women – something to do. That's the real answer – the real cause, I think, of the woman question. These men have gone on inventing vacuum cleaners and gas-stoves and apartment hotels and servants that know more than we do. They haven't treated us fairly. They've taken away all our occupation, and now we've got to retaliate. We can't keep house for them any more, and, if we – if we care anything about them, or want to help them, we've got to go into business, or to help them vote… Well, they brought it on themselves. They've got too proud. They used to be dependent on us: now, we're dependent on them, on their inventions and their servants. So, we're going to show them. We'll make them dependent on us in the wider outside world, just as they used to be dependent on us in the home. They've hurt our pride, and we're going to make them pay. They say we are nervous and reckless and always on the go… It's their fault: they've made the new woman, and now we are going to make the new man. They put us out of work, and made us so, and now they're going to be sorry… The time is fast coming when each of us will have at least three or four men – "
It was Miss Johnson who caused the interruption to this burst of eloquence.
"Why, that's positively immoral!" gasped the outraged spinster.
" – at least three or four men dependent upon her," concluded the unabashed president of the Civitas Club, as she cast a withering look on her enemy, who quailed visibly. "And I think that's all," Cicily added, contentedly. She felt that she could with justice claim to have conducted herself nobly throughout a critical situation.
"I move that we adjourn," said Mrs. Flynn, energetically. Her vigorous temperament would permit no longer sulking in silence despite the humiliation to which she had so recently been subjected.
Mrs. Carrington, however, had not yet rejected all hope of office.
"We must first select a secretary," she suggested.
This was opposed by Miss Johnson, always persistently moved to discredit the older woman who had snubbed her socially.
"Why not select a professional stenographer as a member of the club; then make her secretary? Any number of young working women would doubtless be glad of the honor." This brought an outcry against the admission of any professional working woman into the exclusive Civitas.
"Oh, remember that we have ideals!" Ruth Howard remonstrated, with sincere, if vague, adherence to her ideals; and she up-turned her great eyes toward the ceiling.
Mrs. Flynn, curiously enough, was opposed to the idealist in this instance.
"Yes," she said, "I fear that it's quite true. The professional working woman thinks more of her salary and a comfortable living than of our great cause."
Cicily