The vote was taken in silence, counted in silence. The hall awaited its announcement in silence. Three votes were cast for Peleg Goodwin, the rest for Zaanan Frame.
There was a cheer, but it came not from the floor, not from the men folk. It was shriller than a cheer by the men would have been, for it came from the throats of the wives and mothers of them. Women not accustomed to politics had taken a hand in that game. Women not granted the suffrage by our laws had by their mere presence wielded the powers of the suffrage. They had not voted in person for Zaanan Frame; they had exerted no prior influence; but they had at the moment of action shown their men what was in their hearts, and the men voted in accord with it. The women of Diversity had shown there was a force, a power resident within them, that was capable of ruling when it sought to rule. Men versed in the law tell us that in every state the supreme power must lie definitely in some individual or some group of individuals. Where autocracy, absolutism, obtains, the supreme fountainhead of authority is in the autocrat; in a republic it abides in the citizens. The women of Diversity had made apparent where resided the ultimate authority in their village.
Moran had left the opera-house.
Scatteringly at first, then with volume, arose shouts for Zaanan. Shamefaced men bellowed his name, at first because they were ashamed, afraid, to do otherwise, then with an infection of enthusiasm, perhaps with a clearness of vision they had been deprived of hitherto. Zaanan walked forward slowly, gravely, with no indication of elation in his face. From the platform he eyed them sternly.
“Folks,” he began, presently, “I can’t say I take any pride in this. I don’t feel like I’d been honored. No, I hain’t been honored, except by them that hadn’t votes to vote. My heart hain’t so old but it kin appreciate bein’ trusted and respected by them that sits in the gallery. They stayed by me when you forsook me. You men, ’tain’t on your accounts I’m takin’ this place agin; it’s because of them women that I’ve seen babies in their cradles, and for the babies that is in their cradles to-day.”
He stopped to remove his spectacles.
“I should ’a’ let you have a dose of Peleg and Moran. It would ’a’ been good for you. But I seen you didn’t have sense nor judgment to know what you was doin’, so I done what I’ve had to do before. I took things into my own hands, and for another spell things’ll go on as they did before. I was hopin’ you’d learned. I was hopin’, when I come to step out for good, that you’d be fit to handle the job yourselves. I’m disapp’inted in that, so I’ll hang on as long as I can.”
He stopped again and tugged at his beard, and glowered at the men as one might glower at refractory children.
“Some of you men that’s here to-day has money in your pockets that don’t b’long there. It’s Michael Moran’s money. For a dollar or two, that’ll be spent and forgot in a week, you sold somethin’ that’s next worse to sell than the decency of your homes. You sold somethin’ that men have fought for and give their all for. The whole of this here nation’s built up on you and others like you. You’re a part of the Gov’ment; the nation trusts each feller to do his votin’ and his politics to the best of his judgment. But you hain’t done that. You’ve up and sold your votes. I calc’late I hain’t never been more ashamed. At the door of this op’ry-house is Dolf Springer holdin’ a bushel basket. He’s holdin’ it in plain sight of all. If you that’s took money hopes to have my respect, and the respect of your wives and mothers and daughters, you’ll rise now and march past Dolf, and you’ll chuck into that basket the Judas-money that’s soilin’ your pockets. Now, I’m waitin’.”
They looked at one another shamefaced, each man afraid to be the first to rise.