"Why, why, a little," replied Mrs. Jewett. "Enough to have made our names respected and—yes, a little to be feared."
"But not enough," resumed Mrs. Bateman. "Not so much as we ought to have done. Not so much as we might have done had the City Council been with, instead of against us, or at best, merely tolerant of us. Now here is our opportunity. The lower element has put up a man, notoriously bad and unfit, to be mayor. The better side is all at sea. Our old mayor (weak enough, but infinitely better than Barnaby Burke) is ill with an incurable disease, and no one whose name inspires the least particle of confidence has been mentioned yet to take his place. Let us put up a good, whole-souled, fearless woman and get her elected."
"Impossible!" said Mrs. Jewett.
"We can do it," said the fluffy woman in blue. "My husband would help us; I know he would."
"But who?" asked Mrs. Mason. "Where could we find the woman?"
"Right here in our ranks," said Mrs. Bateman. "One of our own members. Gertrude, you're just the woman for us."
Miss Van Deusen did not answer. Only the quick flush showed how the possibilities of the moment found echo in the consternation at her heart.
"You are independent both by nature and by inheritance. You represent the best element of our citizens, you have means and time, you are bound by no family ties, and you have the kind of courage for the position," urged Mrs. Bateman.
"What will the men say?" reflected Mrs. Jewett.
"It'll give 'em a shock," murmured Mrs. Mason, decidedly. "They need a shock. Yes, Gertrude, you are just the woman to try it,—to try for it, I mean. We'll all work for you,—and with you."