And after that women,
women, women! Hundreds of them, thousands of them, a river
of them flowing up Fifth avenue to the park. More bands.
More horses. Women! Women! They bore banners. This
section, that section. Artists. School teachers. Lawyers.
Doctors. Writers. Women in college caps and gowns. Women
in white, from shoes to hats. Young women. Girls. Gray-
haired women. A woman in a wheel chair, smiling. A man
next to Fanny began to jeer. He was a red-faced young man,
with a coarse, blotchy skin, and thick lips. He smoked
a cigar, and called to the women in a falsetto voice,
"Hello, Sadie!" he called. "Hello, kid!" And the women
marched on, serious-faced, calm-eyed. There came floats;
elaborate affairs, with girls in Greek robes. Fanny did not
care for these. More solid ranks. And then a strange and
pitiful and tragic and eloquent group. Their banner said,
"Garment Workers. Infants' Wear Section." And at their
head marched a girl, carrying a banner. I don't know how
she attained that honor.
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