Polly and Royal had had many an argument on the subject, that is, he would begin by makin’ fun of the Suffragists and their militant doin’s, which if he’d thought on’t wuz sunthin’ like what his old revolutionary forbears went through for the same reasons, bein’ taxed without representation, and bein’ burdened and punished by the law they had no voice in making, only the Suffragettes are not nearly so severe with their opposers, they haven’t drawed any blood yet. Why, them old Patriots we revere so, would consider their efforts for freedom exceedingly gentle and tame compared to their own bloody battles. And Royal would make light of the efforts of college girls to help workin’ girls, and the encouragement and aid they’d gin ’em when they wuz strikin’ for less death-dealin’ hours of labor, and livin’ wages, and so forth. I don’t see how such a really noble young man as Royal ever come to argy that way, but spoze it wuz the dead hand of some rough onreasonable old ancestor reachin’ up out of the shadows of the past and pushin’ him on in the wrong direction. So when he begun to ridicule what Polly’s heart wuz sot on, when she felt that he wuz fightin’ agin right and justice, before they knowed it both pairs of bright eyes would git to flashin’ out angry sparks, and hash words would be said on both sides. That old long-buried Tory ancestor of hisen eggin’ him on, so I spoze, and Polly’s generous sperit rebellin’ aginst the injustice and selfishness, and mebby some warlike ancestor of hern pushin’ her on to say hash things. ’Tennyrate he had grown less attentive to her, and wuz bestowin’ his time and attentions elsewhere. And when she told him she wuz goin’ to ride in the automobile parade of the suffragists, but really ridin’ she felt towards truth and justice to half the citizens of the U.S., he wuz mad as a wet hen, a male wet hen, and wuz bound she shouldn’t go. Some men, and mebby it is love that makes ’em feel so (they say it is), and mebby it is selfishness (though they won’t own up to it), but they want the women they love to belong to them alone, want to rule absolutely over their hearts, their souls, their bodies, and all their thoughts and aims, desires, and fancies. They don’t really say they want ’em to wear veils, and be shet in behind lattice-windowed harems, but I believe they would enjoy it. They want to be foot loose and heart loose themselves, but always after Ulysses is tired of world wandering, he wants to come back and open the barred doors of home with his own private latch-key, and find Penelope knitting stockings for him with her veil on, waitin’ for him.