She assumed again the willowy, a position, her fingers clasped across her knee, her eyes supplicatingly raised to Janet. Then she reached out her hand and touched the I.W.W. button. “Do tell me all about the Industrial Workers, and what they believe,” she pleaded.
“Well,” said Janet, after a slight pause, “I'm afraid you won't like it much. Why do you want to know?”
“Because I'm so interested—especially in the women of the movement. I feel for them so, I want to help—to do something, too. Of course you're a suffragist.”
“You mean, do I believe in votes for women? Yes, I suppose I do.”
“But you must,” declared Mrs. Brocklehurst, still sweetly, but with emphasis. “You wouldn't be working, you wouldn't be striking unless you did.”
“I've never thought about it,” said Janet.
“But how are you working girls ever going to raise wages unless you get the vote? It's the only way men ever get anywhere—the politicians listen to them.” She produced from her bag a gold pencil and a tablet. “Mrs. Ned Carfax is here from Boston—I saw her for a moment at the hotel she's been here investigating for nearly three days, she tells me. I'll have her send you suffrage literature at once, if you'll give me your address.”
“You want a vote?” asked Janet, curiously, gazing at the pearl earrings.
“Certainly I want one.”
“Why?”