For the first time, I believe, our form of agitation began to seem a little more respectable than the Administration’s handling of it. But the Administration did not know this fact yet. “Everybody in line for the work-room!” We were thankful to leave our inedible breakfast. We were unable to drink the greasy black coffee. The pain in the tops of our heads was acute. “What you all down here for?” asked a young negress, barely out of her teens, as she casually fingered her sewing material. “Why, I held a purple, white and gold banner at the gates of the White House.” “You don’ say so! What de odders do?” “Same thing. We all held banners at the White House gates asking President Wilson to give us the vote.” “An’ yo’ all got sixty days fo’ dat?” “Yes. You see the President thought it would be a good idea to send us to the workhouse for asking for the vote. You know women want to vote and have wanted to for a long time in our country” “O-Yass’m, I know. I seen yo’ parades, an’ meetin’s, an’ everythin’. I know whah yo’ all live, right near the White House. You’s alright. I hopes yo’ git it, fo’ women certainly do need protextion against men like Judge Mullowny. He has us allatime picked up an’ sen’ down here. “They sen’ yo’ down here once, an’ then yo’ come out without a cent, and try to look fo’ a job, an’ befo’ yo’ can fin’ one a cop walks up an’ asks yo’ whah yo’ live, an’ ef yo’ haven’t got a place yet, becaus’ yo’ ain’ got a cent to ren’ one with, he says, ‘Come with me, I’ll fin’ yo’ a home,’ an’ hustles yo’ off to the p’lice station an’ down heah again, an’ you’re called a 4vag’ (vagrant). What chance has we niggahs got, I ask ya? I hopes yo’ all gits a vote an’ fixes up somethings for women!” “You see that young girl over there?” said another prisoner, who in spite of an unfortunate life had kept a remnant of her early beauty. I nodded. “Well, Judge Mullowny gave her thirty days for her first offense, and when he sentenced her, she cried out desperately, ‘Don’t send me down there, Judge! If you do, I’ll kill myself!’ What do you think he said to that?—‘I’ll give you six months in which to change your mind!’’ I reflected. The judge that broke this pale-faced, silent girl was the appointee of the President. It was the task of such a man to sentence American women to the workhouse for demanding liberty. Conversing with the “regulars” was forbidden by the wardress, but we managed, from time to time, to talk to our fellow prisoners with stealthiness. “We knew somethin’ was goin’ to happen,” said one negro girl, “because Monday the close we had on wer’ took off us an’ we were giv’ these old patched ones. We wuz told they wanted to take ‘stock,’ but we heard they wuz bein’ washed fo’ you-all suff’agettes.”