Wooded hills flew by them, the white road flickered forward to their wheels.
"You interested in the movement?" demanded the flapper again.
"Yes," he said.
"Granny will be delighted to know that. So many young men aren't."
"What make is it?" he inquired, preparing to look enlightened when told the name of the vehicle in which they rode.
"Oh, I mean the Movement—the movement!"
"Oh, yes," he faltered. "Greatly interested!" He remembered the badge on her jacket, and Bulger's warning about Grandma, the Demon.
"Granny and I marched in the parade this year, clear down to Washington Square. If she wasn't so old we'd both run over to London and get arrested in the Strand for breaking windows."
Bean shuddered.
"We're making our flag now for the next parade—big blue cloth with a gold star for every state that has raised woman from her degradation by giving her a vote."