"The order of the day," resumed the little widow placidly, "is, Shall marriage in the Consol—"
"Legislature!" piped a weak voice in the crowd. "They only laugh at us in the legislature."
"Let them laugh: they laughed at the slave." The speaker hurled this in a deep bass voice full at McCall. She was a black-browed, handsome young woman, wrapped in a good deal of scarlet, who sat sideways on one chair with her feet on the rung of another. "How long will the world dare to laugh?" fixing him fiercely with her eye.
"Upon my word, madam, I don't know," McCall gasped, and checked himself, hot and uncomfortable.
A fat, handsomely-dressed woman jolted the chair in front of her to command attention: "On the question of marriage—"
"Address the chair," growled Bluhm.
"Miss Chairman, I want to say that I ought to be qualified to speak on marriage, being the mother of ten, to say nothing of twice twins."
"The question before the house is the street-car passes," thundered Bluhm. "I move that we at least thank them for their offer. When a cup of tea is passed me, I thank the giver: when the biscuits are handed, I do likewise. It is a simple matter of courtesy."
"I deny it," said the black-browed female with a tone of tragedy. "What substantial tea has been offered? what biscuits have been baked? It is not tea: it is bribery! It is not biscuits: it is corruption!"
"I second Herr Bluhm's motion."