"No, of course not."
"Come now, Biddy, tell us what it is."
"It is a long subject, my aunt. It would take too many words to explain, though Mr. Nimmo has often told me about it. Women who believe that—can do as men. Why should we not vote,—you, and I, and Claudine?"
"I dunno. I guess the men won't let us."
"I should like to vote," said Bidiane, stoutly, "but even though we cannot, we can tell the men on the Bay of this monster, and they will send him home."
"All right," said her aunt; while Claudine, who had been sitting with knitted brows during the last few minutes, exclaimed, "I have it, Bidiane; let us make bombance" (feasting). "Do you know what it means?"
No, Bidiane did not, but Mirabelle Marie did, and immediately began to make a gurgling noise in her throat. "Once I helped to make it in the house of an aunt. Glory! that was fun. But the tin, Claudine, where'll you git that?"
"My one hundred dollars," cried the black-eyed assistant. "I will give them to my country, for I hate that man. I will do without the wheel."
"But what is this?" asked Bidiane, reproachfully. "What are you agreeing to? I do not understand."
"Tell her, Claudine," said Mirabelle Marie, with a proud wave of her hand. "She's English, yeh know."