Suzanne laughed at this arraignment.
"It isn't the music of the El, per se that I delight in. That's nearer like the thing it rhymes with. But it's a symbol. It means hurrying human beings, the rush and stir of things. I love crowds."
"And I detest them," groaned Barb. "I'm afraid of New York in spite of all its wonderfulness. It is so big and hard and impersonal. If it weren't for being with Aunt Jo I know it would scare me to bits to live there."
"You poor babe!" Sylvia smiled sympathetically at the speaker. "It is unthinkable that a little shrinking infant like you should be dedicated to a great screaming cause. You ought to live in a cozy cottage, in a friendly little village, where everybody knows everybody and grow pansies."
"And babies," added Suzanne, an addition which brought a quick flush to Barb's cheeks and made her put out her hand with a deprecating gesture. "You'll never be able to stand the pace. Better wire your Aunt Josephine you have decided to bury the mantle."
"For mercy's sake, what do you two think I am? I guess I don't have to be packed away in rose petals and pink cotton." There was a strain of indignation in Barb's voice. "I don't belong in the sheltered woman class, and I wouldn't stay in it if I did. How long do you suppose I'd have any peace in my cozy cottage, in my friendly little village, remembering all the other women who don't live in cozy friendly places but have to work in horrid, noisy, sweaty factories or worse? What pleasure would I get out of my pansies--and babies--so long as I knew there was a child in the world who wasn't free to chase butterflies in the sunshine? You two think I am just playing at this woman game. I'm not. Sylvia can act Lady Bountiful from the top of her Hill and you can write about woman, Suzanne, but I'm going to fight for her, so there!"
"Bravo! I stand reproved and beg a thousand pardons. You're a trump, Barbie. You are right, too. Sylvia and I are likely to play with this thing called Feminism, but you'll fight for it to the last trench like the wee bit heroine you are. Oh, there's Mr. Amidon's car. There is Mr. Amidon and Dr. Lorrimer and--Sylvia, who is the third man?"
"If my eyes do not deceive me the third man is Roger Minot. Did you know he was imminent?"
"I did not. Moreover, I am extremely displeased with him for appearing," frowned Suzanne. "I told him distinctly I didn't want to see him again unless I sent for him."
"Well, you will have to look the other way then," observed Sylvia. "He is in plain sight."