"Nice ittie kittie, say how-do to big Penny-field-Evans. Say how-do to big man. Say how-do, muvver's ittie kittie." Miss Emelene extended the somewhat reluctant Maltese paw, five hook-shaped claws slightly in evidence. "Say how-do to Hanna, Penfield. Hanna, say how-do to big man." "How-do, Hanna," said Mr. Evans, reddening slightly beneath his tan. Then hitched his chair closer. "To what," he began, flashing his white smile from one to the other of them, and with a strong veer to the facetious, "are we indebted for the honor of this visit? Are those the unspoken words, ladies?" "Nothing wrong at home, Penfield? Nobody ailing or--" "No, no, Miss Emelene, never better. As a matter of fact, it's a piece of political business that has prompted me to--" At that Mrs. Smith jangled her bracelets, leaning forward on her knees. "If it's got anything to do with your partner and my cousin George Remington having the courage to go in for the district attorneyship without the support of the vote-hunting, vote-eating women of this town, I'm here to tell you that I'm with him heart and soul. He can have my support and--" "Mine too. And if I've got anything to say my two nephews will vote for him; and I think I have, with my two heirs." "Ladies, it fills my heart with joy to--" "Votes! Why what would the powder-puffing, short-skirted, bridge-playing women of this town do with the vote if they had it? Wear it around their necks on a gold chain?" "Well spoken, Mrs. Smith, if--" "I know the direction you lean, Penfield Evans, letting--" "But, Miss Emelene, I--" "Letting that shameless Betty Sheridan, a girl that had as sweet and womanly a mother as Whitewater ever boasted, lead you around by the nose on her suffrage string. A girl with her raising and both of her grandmothers women that lived and died genteel, to go traipsing around in her low heels in men's offices and addressing hoi polloi from soap boxes! Why, between her and that female chauffeur, Mrs. Herrington, another woman whose mother was of too fine feelings even to join the Delsarte class, the women of this town are being influenced to making disgraceful--dis--oh, what shall I say, Alys?" Here Mrs. Smith broke in, thumping a soft fist into a soft palm. "It's the most pernicious movement, Mr. Evans, that has ever got hold of this community and we need a man like my cousin George Remington to--" "But, Mrs. Smith, that's just what I--" "To stamp it out! Stamp it out! It's eating into the homes of Whitewater, trying to make breadwinners out of the creatures God intended for the bread-eaters--I mean bread-bakers." "But, Mrs. Smith, I--" "Woman's place has been the home since home was a cave, and it will be the home so long as women will remember that womanliness is their greatest asset. As poor dear Mr. Smith was so fond of saying, he--I can't bring myself to talk of him, Mr. Evans, but--but as he used to say, I--I--" "Yes, yes, Mrs. Smith, I understa--"