They entered the house together, and Miss Zerviah seated herself on one of the old kitchen chairs, painted black, with a decoration of flowers now dimly seen because of the rubbing of generations of backs. "In my heaven," remarked Miss Zerviah, "I hope the men will have to wash all the dishes, and either they'll have chairs four inches too high for 'em, so their legs will dangle, or else that the general size of women will be considered."
"Why, Zerviah Hackett," exclaimed Miss Phosie, "that sounds real sacrilegious."
"No 'tain't," returned Zerviah; "not according to some's doctrines, Swedenborgians, for instance."
"You been talking to the Knowles's, I guess."
"I did see Miss Knowles this morning, and had a few words with her. I guess maybe that was what put it into my head. 'Tany rate this world wasn't made for women. Did you ever notice, Phosie, how steps is always made for men on the street cars, and the seats in places where they have shows? I don't see why it would hurt a man to crook up his knees a little higher, or to take a wee mite of a shorter step getting in and out cars. I was up to the city last Monday and I've had sciatica ever since because every nameable chair I sot in bound me across my sciatic nerves. When I mentioned dish-washing I was thinking of Almira Green. There she was this time o' afternoon just getting through her dishes, and that lazy Manny settin' outside on the back porch looking pretty and making Ora laugh."
"THAT LAZY MANNY SETTIN' OUTSIDE ON THE BACK PORCH."
Miss Phosie flushed up. "Ora hain't accountable for Manny's behavior," she said, "and as long as she's done her work I don't see why she's called upon to do other people's."