The news of P.J. Neelands' resignation from the Young Men's Political Club made a ripple of excitement in Government circles, and brought forth diverse comments.
"There's a girl in it, I hear," said one of the loungers at the Maple
Leaf Club; "some pretty little suffragette has won over our Peter."
"He does not deny it," said another, "he'll tell you the whole story—and believe me, Peter is an enthusiastic supporter of the women's cause now. I see in this morning's paper he made a speech for them last night called 'The Chivalry of the Law.' Peter has the blood of the martyrs in him for sure—for he was in a straight line for the nomination here in 'Centre.'"
"Peter Neelands makes me tired," said a third gloomily. "Why does he need to get all fussed up over the laws relating to women—they have too much liberty now—they can swear away a man's character—that's one thing I'd like to see changed. It's dangerous, I tell you."
The first man finished the discussion:
"I always liked Peter, and am sorry he's quit us. He'll have a following, too, just because he does believe in himself."
Though the loungers at the Maple Leaf Club took the news of Peter Neeland's secession with composure, mingled with amusement, the chief organizer, Mr. Banks, viewed it with alarm, and voiced his fears to the head of his department, who sat in his accustomed chair, with a bottle of the best beside him. The Honorable member listened, but refused to be alarmed. It was past the third hour of the afternoon, and the rainbow haze was over everything.
"I tell you," said Mr. Banks, "something is going to break if we can't get this thing stopped. The women are gaining every day. Their meetings are getting bigger, and now look at Peter Neelands. This Watson girl has got to be canned—got rid of—if we have to send her to do immigration work in London, England."
The honorable member did his best to hold his head steady.
"Do what you like, Banks," he said thickly, "only save the country. My country if she's right; my country if she's wrong; but always my country! 'Lives there a man with soul so dead,' eh, Banks? That's the dope—what? Damn the women—but save the home—we gotta' save the home."