"Miss Chairman, put the question on its passage."
A mild old Quakeress rose, thus called on: "Thee has made a motion, Friend Bluhm, and Sister Carr says she seconds it; so it seems to me—Indeed I don't understand this parliamentary work."
"You're doing very nicely."
"All right!" called out several voices.
"Why should we have these trivial parliamentary forms?" demanded the Tragic Muse, as McCall called her. "Away with all worn-out garments of a degraded Past! Shall the rebellious serf of man still wear his old clothes?"
"But," whispered McCall to Bluhm, "when will the great thinkers you talked of begin to speak on those mighty truths—"
"Patience! These are our great thinkers. The logical heads some of them have! Woman," standing up and beginning aloud, apropos to nothing—"Woman is destined to purify the ballot-box, reform the jury, whiten the ermine of the judge. [Applause.] When her divine intuitions, her calm reason, are brought into play—" Prolonged applause, in the midst of which Bluhm, again apropos to nothing, abruptly sat down.
"The order of the day," said the little woman in black, "is, Shall marriage—"
"What about the car company?"
"Let's shelve that."