"Well, what did you sell out for?" growled Prim.

"I tell you I didn't. They owned the paper. They'll own this town inside of six months. They've got the last one of you like 'possums with their tails in a split stick! And you'll find it out. Don't talk to me about selling the _Signal_! The people who own a paper always control its policies."

"And what's become of your political convictions, Magnis, with your ap.r.o.n-string editorials?" the other sneered.

"A really intelligent, progressive editor, Mike, moulds public opinion.

He don't get it from a village boss. I'm becoming intelligent. I'm following the trend of our times."

"The h.e.l.l you are! You're sitting on that old she-cat's footstool taking dictation!" he snorted, turning upon his heels and slumping off down the street.

If there is anything more exasperating than a Republican to an old Adam Democrat of the South, it must be the little political Eve-rib in his side turned into a maverick female suffragist with no traditions and no fears of consequences to keep her inside established party lines.

The scene which Jordantown presented by the 1st of June is as difficult to describe--the mere physical changes--as it is to interpret these changes. The square was practically deserted; the Acres Mercantile Company was not even able to hold its country trade. Every farmer made straight for the Women's Cooperative Store. The avenue was filled from morning till night with wagons and buggies and a slow-moving procession of men in hickory shirts, and their wives and daughters. They were drawn by curiosity and cupidity. Both were gratified. They received more in barter for their country produce; and, besides that, there was always a "committee of ladies" on hand to show them through and to enlighten them upon many things besides the price of commodities.

There is a theory to the effect that women follow men. It is based upon one-sided experience for the most part. The reason they do is because so far they have never had the opportunity to lead. The present situation in Jordantown afforded this opportunity. Women were rarely seen now upon the square, but the avenue literally teemed with men. They crowded the aisles of the stores; they blocked the sidewalks. Only the victims held aloof. Acres, Thad Bailey, and the other merchants remained bitterly faithful to the square. The usual groups of loafers occupied the courthouse veranda. Colonel Marshall Adams had apparently retired from public life. He spent his days on his farm, which lay upon the outskirts of the town. He could be seen returning late in the evening, seated upon an old pacing horse like a wounded warrior barely able to keep in his saddle.

There was a report in Jordantown to the effect that real estate had fallen in value, that the workingmen were leaving, that bankruptcy and starvation stared every man in the face. But if this was so, there was no way to warn the people. The _Signal_ published every week glowing accounts of the prosperity of the town. The most amazing information appeared from week to week concerning the growth of sentiment in favour of suffrage for women. The locals were filled with complimentary notices of the comings and goings of country matrons and country belles who had never seen their names in print before. And there was an occasional interview from some woman prominent in the suffragist movement.

Martin Acres reached the infuriated end of his patience when he saw the following quotation from Mabel, who had permitted herself to be interviewed.

"Do you think women know better how to buy and sell than men?" Mrs.

Acres was asked.

"Of course they do. Isn't it women who have to cook, or see to it? Then why shouldn't they know better than men what is proper food for their families? And isn't it women that make the clothes and who wear most of them? So we naturally know better what stuffs we need for clothes. If you could see the ugly dimities and ginghams and calicoes we have worn in this town all our lives, chosen by colour-blind merchants who do not know what is becoming to us! Things are different here this spring, our groceries are of a better quality, and our frocks are infinitely more becoming."

There was more in the same tenor. But Acres was too angry to read further. He rushed into his wife's room with the _Signal_ in his hand.

"Did you say that, Mabel?" he shouted, thrusting the offensive page beneath her nose.

"What, Martin?" she exclaimed, lifting her hand to thrust it aside as she stared up at her husband.

"Did you give out this scandalous interview criticising me and my business?" he insisted.

"Why, Martin, how could you think such a thing! I never uttered a critical word of my husband in my life!"

"Then you didn't say it?"

"Let me see what you are talking about," she said, craning her neck to see the print. "Oh _that_! Yes, Mrs. Walton asked me to say something to show how natural it is, and how right, you know, for women to keep a store, do the sedentary things while men do the hard things--till the ground, and all that. Did you read----"

"No, by Gad! I didn't read far enough to see that you wanted me to become a day labourer!"

"Oh, I wasn't speaking of you, dear, I was just promulgating one of the theories of our movement. I was so flattered when Mrs. Walton asked me----"

"Your movement be d.a.m.ned, Mabel! Enough of a thing is enough. You will resign to-morrow from this plagued movement which is carrying us all to the devil!"

"But, Martin, I can't; I'm chairman of the Finance Committee. Mrs.

Walton----"

"Don't let me hear that old viper's name again in this house. She's the serpent in this town tempting the last one of you to----"

"I can't have you speak disrespectfully of our chief, dear," said Mabel with frigid dignity.

"And what's your husband, I'd like to know!"

"Why, you, you are just my husband, Martin, as I used to be just your wife!"

"Good Lord, Mabel, you are crazy! Don't you know you are helping that gang to drive me into bankruptcy!"

Mrs. Acres was the living feminine likeness of Pin Money. She was very small, very fair, with faded blue eyes. Her clothes were always too tight, and she wore narrow ruffles like the hope, the mere hope, of feathers and wings to come.

She looked up now into her husband's face with a curious little white smile.

"I know that I am all that stands between you and ruin, Martin. I've been waiting to talk to you, to give you a hint, but our affairs are not entirely in shape. We are not ready to show our hand."

"To show her hand! And this from my own wife!" groaned Acres, beginning to stride up and down the room.

"Listen, dear," said Mabel, rising and following him. "I ought not to do it, but I will give you just one little hint."

"All right, _hint_!" he sneered.

"Call on Judge Regis to-morrow, and tell him you are very much interested in suffrage for women in this county. Say that you'd like to take your part in bringing it about. Just that, no more. And you'll see what happens." She turned her head to one side and looked at him with treacherous sweetness.

"I'll be hanged if I do!"

"Be reasonable, Martin!"

"Don't talk to me about being reasonable. I'm one of the few reasonable beings left in this town."

"Well, that kind of reason is out of fashion now. You've got to share our reasons, Martin. Women have a rationality you men do not recognize; now you've got to."

"I will not! But suppose I do?"

"You'll get immediate relief from your present financial pressure, for one thing."

"Tell that to the marines!"

"Very well. I'll stand between you and--and ruin as long as I can, but if you don't give in I can't save you!" she whimpered.

"And what about Thad Bailey and Baldwin and Saddler and all the other merchants?" he asked curiously, with his nose pointed like a terrier who smells a rat.

"The sooner you or somebody persuades them to go to Judge Regis and make the same agreement, the sooner you'll get what you want," she replied.

"And what we don't want! Do you think for a moment the men in this county would give women the vote even if they could, Mabel?"

"I don't think about it, Martin, I know you are going to be forced to do it, and I want you to give in before it is too late to save your credit; you'll be a day labourer before you know it if you don't listen to reason," she concluded tearfully.

"Reason! Reason! A set of crazy women dictating to men. What is reason?"

shouted the furious little merchant as he rushed from the room.