“Women sometimes inherit the strongest traits of their fathers; I admit that. And such women can outwit the very best husbands.”
“I’ve read of a woman,” said Jean, musingly, “Elizabeth Cady Stanton by name, who went before a legislative assembly in New York a few years ago, and secured the passage of a law enabling a married woman of that State to hold, in her own right, the property bequeathed to her by her father. And then, as if to prove that women are idiots, there were women in Albany who refused to associate with their financial savior any more. They said she had left her sphere. But never mind. The world is moving, and women are moving with it.”
The camp-fires had died to heaps of embers, the lights were out in the tents and wagons, and all except themselves were settled for the night.
“Don’t say anything to anybody about my meeting with Sam, will you, Jean?”
“Not unless he annoys you again. Then I’ll be ready to meet him with facts.”
“He might put your life in jeopardy, my dear.”
“Jeopardy nothin’!” cried Jean, adopting the slang of the road. “He’s too big a coward to put his neck in danger. But just you wait! I’ll live to see an end to one-sided laws and a one-sexed government. See if I don’t! And the men will fight our battle for us, too, as soon as they are wise enough.”
“If you don’t come across a matrimonial fate that’ll change your tune, my name isn’t Sally O’Dowd,” exclaimed her companion, as they drew near the camp.
“Your name isn’t O’Dowd, but Danover,” cried Jean. “You’re safe in making such a prophecy on such a basis.”