But her mother ignored her.
“Don’t talk nonsense,” she said. “Set the table and then I must tell you my news.”
They were used to news from Mrs. Thorstad. She was full of the indomitable energy that created little events and situations and exulted in them. Victories in the intrigues of the district federated clubs, small entanglements, intricate machinations were commonplaces to her husband and daughter since Mrs. Thorstad had become district vice-president.
So now when the sausage, flanked by its mound of mashed potatoes, came sizzling to the table and Freda had satisfied her soul by putting three sprays of red marsh-berries in a dull green bowl in the middle, they looked forward to dinner with more anticipation than to Mrs. Thorstad’s surprise. But she began impressively, and without delay.
“I think that this entrance of women into politics may alter the whole course of our lives.”
Freda and her father exchanged a whimsical friendly glance in which no disrespect blended.
“No doubt,” said Mr. Thorstad.
“If I were called to public office, think what a difference it would make!”
“What difference?” asked Freda.
“Why—there’d be more money, more chances to better ourselves.”