"I give him the last word. I thought it was his man's due.
"When I got back to the office, Libby Liberty an' Mis' Toplady was there before me. They was both setting on high stools up to the file shelf, with their feet tucked up, an' the reason was that Viney Liberty was mopping the floor. She had a big pail of suds and her skirt pinned up, and she was just lathering them boards. Mis' Sykes at the main desk was still labouring over her editorials, breathing hard, the boards steaming soap all around her.
"'I couldn't stand it,' Viney says. 'How a man can mould public opinion in a place where the floor is pot-black gets me. My land, my ash house is a dinin' room side of this room, an' the window was a regular gray frost with dust. Ain't men the funniest lot of folks?' she says.
"'Funny,' says I, 'but awful amiable if you kind of sing their key-note to 'em.'
"Mis' Sykes pulled my skirt.
"'How was he?' she asks in a pale voice.
"'He was crusty,' says I, triumphant, 'but he's beat.'
"She never smiled. 'Calliope Marsh,' says she, cold, 'if you've sassed my husband, I'll never forgive you.'
"I tell you, men may be some funny, and often are. But women is odd as Dick's hatband and I don't know but odder.
"'How'd you get on?' I says to Mis' Toplady and the Libertys. The Libertys they handed out a list on two sheets, both sides with sums ranging from ten to fifty cents towards a shelf library for public use; but Mis' Toplady, the tears was near streaming down her cheeks.