“You mean it?”
“If anything I could do could make you happy––cutting off my right arm, or––”
“That’s no end nice of you. But I am in earnest. I’m wretchedly unhappy, doing nothing. We women, I fancy, are most of us just where boys are when they have outgrown boyhood and haven’t reached manhood––when they are crazy to be at something, and can’t even decide where to begin. Women have got to come out in the world and get to work. Here’s my job, and I want it!”
He looked at the delicate hands she fluttered before him, and he smiled. She protested:
“I always loved physical exercise. In England I did the 182 roughest sort of farmwork. I’m stronger than I look. I think I’d rather play one of those rat-tat-tat instruments than––than a harp in New Jerusalem.”
Davidge shook his head. “I’m afraid you’re not quite strong enough. It takes a lot of power to hold the gun against the hull. The compressed air kicks and shoves so hard that even men tire quickly. Sutton himself has all he can do to keep alive.”
“Give me a hammer, then, and let me––smite something.”
“Don’t you think you’d rather begin in the office? You could learn the business there first. Besides, I don’t like the thought of your roughing up those beautiful hands of yours.”
“If men would only quit trying to keep women’s hands soft and clean, the world would be the better for it.”
“Well, come down and learn the business first––you’d be nearer me.”