Frank—Perhaps—well, yes, I suppose I could. You first, though.
Alice—No, you.
Frank—Ladies first, always.
Alice—There, that’s it, exactly. That “always.” Why should a thing always be just the same? You must always say “ladies first,” and both of us must offer each other the biggest piece, when we want it ourselves, and always mind what the grown-ups say, and shut the door, and a whole lot of nonsense. Why shouldn’t the grown-ups mind us part of the time?
Frank—Is that what you are mad at?
Alice—Yes, it is. My mother thinks I ought to mind everything she says, and never talk back, and when I said I was going over to Kitty’s she said I couldn’t, and when I—argued a little about it, she said I was saucy, and spanked me. I wish I could find a place where mothers had to mind their children a while, and see how they like it.
Frank—So do I. My teacher kept me after school because I couldn’t answer every question in my geography lesson. Why don’t she answer some of them? We scholars have to do all the work, and the teacher just listens and watches for something to find fault with, all the time.
Alice—I know. Why don’t they let us ask the questions? It would be much the best way, I’m sure. And rules. I’m so sick of rules. You mustn’t do this and you mustn’t do that, and if you do, some one will punish you. I’d like to live where there weren’t any rules at all, and where children were the biggest for a spell. Wouldn’t I teach them a thing or two?
Frank—There isn’t any such place, I’m afraid. I never learned about it in my geography.
Alice—You’ve never been way through it yet. Perhaps there is, now. Let’s hunt for it.