The red-faced hooligan, who had
stood next to Fanny in the crowd hours before, had long ago
ceased his jibes and slunk away, bored, if not impressed.
After all, one might jeer at ten, or fifty, or a hundred
women, or even five hundred. But not at forty
thousand.
Their car turned down Madison Avenue, and Fenger twisted
about for a last look at the throng in the plaza. He was
plainly impressed. The magnitude of the thing appealed to
him. To a Haynes-Cooper-trained mind, forty thousand women,
marching for whatever the cause, must be impressive. Forty
thousand of anything had the respect of Michael Fenger. His
eyes narrowed, thoughtfully.
"They seem to have put it over," he said. "And yet, what's
the idea? Oh, I'm for suffrage, of course. Naturally. And
all those thousands of women, in white--still, a thing as
huge as this parade has to be reduced to a common
denominator, to be really successful. If somebody could
take the whole thing, boil it down, and make the country see
what this huge demonstration stands for.
Pages:
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430