And if a grocer lets his eatin' stuff lay round outdoors for the flies to roost on, do you spoze they'll buy that stuff? No, their minds not bein' bigger than them fly specks, they'll hound that man till they make him cover up that stuff or bring it into the house, and every one that has got horse sense knows it makes that man extra work, but what do they care? And if he tries to make a little more money by sellin' things that hain't jest what you might call hullsome--and of course every business man understands that he wants to make all the money he can--why, the woman that buys that stuff once, and thinks it hain't what she wants to feed her fambly on, she begins to tell petickulars; she'll call it rotten, and tell how long it has been in cold storage, she'll say "to lessen population and increase some millionaire's revenue." And she'll call his canned vegetables mouldy, and tell how his canned meat smells, and how it made her children sick, and how Eben Purdy's little girl died after eatin' it, and how it took off old Miss Lanfear. All these little petickulars she has to dwell on with other wimmen till she gits 'em all rousted up and there will be a dozen talkin' at one time, sez I, and sez he, and sez she, and sez they. And they'll keep it up and jest boycote that man till he has to keep hullsome goods that cost him most as much agin, and of course cuts down his profits, but they don't think of that. And how them wimmen found fault with the decision of the Supreme court, that pizen could be used to bleach flour, when they knew the Supreme court is composed of the very smartest men in the Nation. And they knowed them supreme men didn't approve of usin' enough pizen in it to kill the aged and infants. But they had to argy and boast that if they wuz supreme wimmen, they wouldn't had a mite of pizen put into bread, jest as if grown folks can't stand a little pizen now and then. But you can see plain that they claim that wimmen can manage the home and food bizness better than men, and want to find fault with men and git the upper hands on 'em. And it is jest so with milk. A fool ort to know that it makes a man as much agin work to fuss and clean off his cows and his stables every day, and keep his milk absolutely clean. But what do they care if a man breaks his back cleanin' his stables and washin' off his cows' tits. They'll talk and put in every little petickular about how many babies wuz killed by his bad milk, and how many folks got tomain from it, till they carry the day and git the milk they want. Another man made to toe the mark by petickulars. And it is jest so with stuff throwed into the street--why, a man can't call his soul his own, and throw a old cabbage or rotten potato into the street without their interferin' with him, and makin' him clean up his primises and keep a covered garbage can. [Illustration: "Till she gets 'em all rousted up, and just boycote that man till he has to keep hullsome food"]