Part 28 (2/2)

”You can't very well help us just now without hurting your husband's chances and embarra.s.sing him in the bargain. You see, we're trying to embarra.s.s him. We want him to kick over the traces and tell what he's going to do as district attorney of this town.”

”But can't I do something that won't interfere with George? Couldn't I investigate the factories, or organize the working girls?”

”My child, have you ever organized anything?” exclaimed E. Eliot.

”No.”

”Well, don't begin on the n.o.ble working girl. She doesn't organize easily. Wait until the election is over. Then you come in on our schemes and we'll teach you how to do things. But don't b.u.t.t in now, I beg of you. Misguided, well-meaning enthusiasts like you can do more harm to our cause than all the anti-suffragists in this world!”

With her genial, disarming smile, E. Eliot rose and departed. She chuckled all the way back to her rooms over the idea of Remington's bride wanting to take the field with the enemies of her wedded lord.

”Women, women! G.o.d bless us, but we're funny!” mused E. Eliot.

Genevieve liked her caller immensely, and she thought over her advice, but she determined to let it make no difference in her plans.

She saw her work cut out for her. She would not flinch!

She would do her bit in the great cause of women--no, of humanity. The flame of her purpose burned steadily and high.

At a quarter-past eleven that night a slight, black-clad figure, with a shawl over its head, softly closed the side door of the Remington house and hurried down the street. Never before had Genevieve been alone on the streets after dark. She had not foreseen how frightened she would be at the long, dark stretches, nor how much more frightened when any one pa.s.sed her. Two men spoke to her. She sped on, turning now this way, now that, without regard to direction--her eyes over her shoulder, in terror lest she be followed.

So it was that she plunged around a corner and into the very arms of E.

Eliot, who was sauntering home from a political meeting, where she had been a much-advertised speaker. She was in the habit of prowling about by herself. Tonight she was, as usual, unattended--unless one observed two burly workingmen who walked slowly in her wake.

”Oh, I beg your pardon,” came a gently modulated voice from behind the shawl. E. Eliot stared.

”No harm done here. Did I hurt you?” she replied.

She thought she heard an involuntary ”Oh!” from beneath the shawl.

”No, thanks. Could you tell me how to get to the Whitewater Arms and Munitions Factory? I'm all turned around.”

”Certainly. Two blocks that way to the State Road, and half a mile north on that. Shall I walk to the road with you?”

”Oh, no, thank you,” the girl answered and hurried on. E. Eliot stood and watched her. Where had she heard that voice? She knew a good many girls who worked at the factories, but none of them spoke like that.

All at once a memory came to her: ”Couldn't I investigate something, or organize the working girls?” Mrs. George Remington!

”The little fool,” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the other woman, and turned promptly to follow the flying figure.

The two burly gentlemen in the rear also turned and followed, but E.

Eliot was too busy planning how to manage Mrs. Remington to notice them.

She had to walk rapidly to keep her quarry in sight. As she came within some thirty yards of the gate she saw Genevieve challenge the gatekeeper, present her card and slip inside, the gate clanging to behind her.

E. Eliot broke into a jog trot, rounded the corner of the wall, pulled herself up quickly, using the stones of the wall as footholds. She hung from the top and let herself drop softly inside, standing perfectly still in the shadow. At the same moment the two burly gentlemen ran round the corner and saw nothing. ”I told ye to run--” began one of them fiercely.

”Aw, shut up. If she went over here, she'll come out here. We'll wait.”

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