“Matthew,” she said that night “I want you to come with me Tuesday and explain frankly to a committee of the Women’s City Club your attitude on the superpower projects.”
Matthew stared: “And how shall explain my vote?”
“By telling the truth. Then I’ll say a word.”
Matthew made no comment. Gradually in his own soul he had made a declaration of independence. He would not in the future, more than in the past, be hemmed in by petty moral scruples. He still honestly believed that burglary was ethically no worse than Big Business. But thereafter in each particular instance he was going to be the judge. He would buy and sell if he so wished, but he would not be bought and sold. He was glad to go before that club and talk openly and cleanly of traction and Superpower.
The scene inspired him. They sat high up above the roaringcity, in a softly beautiful and quiet room. There rose before him intelligent faces—well-groomed and well-carried bodies, mostly of women. He saw clearly, behind their ease and poise, the toiling slavery of colored millions. He was not deceived into assuming that their show of interest would easily survive any real attack on their incomes or comforts. And yet they were willing to listen. Within limits, they wanted reform and the uplift of men.
Matthew knew his subject. He knew it even better than many experts who had spoken there, because he brought in and made real and striking the point of view and the personal interest not simply of the skilled worker, but of the laborer, the ditch-digger, the casual semi-criminal. They listened to him in growing astonishment. Here was a machine politician who had voted deliberately against his own knowledge and convictions, and yet who explained their own belief and aims much better than they could, and who nevertheless—
“Why then did I vote as I did?”
He was about to say frankly that he voted at the dictation of the machine, but that he did not propose to do this again. He would hereafter use his own judgment. His judgment might not always agree with theirs. It might sometimes agree with the machine politicians’. But it would always be his judgment. Before, however, he could say anything, Sara arose. He saw her and hesitated in astonishment.
Sara arose. She looked almost pretty—simply but well gowned, self-possessed and nervously expectant. Matthew never was sure afterward whether she actually was nervous or whether this was not one of her poses.
She arose and said, “May I interrupt right here?”
What could Matthew say? He could hardly tell his own wife in public to shut up, although that was what he wanted to say. He had to bow grimly, even if not politely. The chairman smiled, looked a little astonished, and then explained: “This is perhaps not exactly the place where we would expect an interruption, but as most of you know, this is Mr. Towns’ wife, and she wants to say a word right here if he and you are willing.”
Many had thought Sara white. Now they all “could see that she was colored”! At least they pretended never really to have been in doubt—that slight curl in her hair—the delicate tint of her skin—the singular gray eyes, etc. But she was unusually well dressed—“yes, quite intelligent, too, they say—yes.” But what a singular point at which to interrupt! It would be especially interesting to hear the speaker proceed just here. But Matthew bowed abruptly and sat down. He was curious to see what Sara was up to. Her nimble mind always outran his in unguessed directions.
“He voted as he did because I had promised the politicians that he would, and he was too chivalrous to make me break my word, as he should have.”
Matthew gasped and glanced to the door. It was too far off and blocked with silk and fur.
“I know now I was quite wrong, but I did not realize it then. I received my political education, as many of you know, as a member of a political machine, where the first commandment is, Obey. I was and am ambitious for my husband. I was a little scared at his liberal views before I understood his reasons and until we had talked them over. The machine asked his vote against municipal ownership. He gave it. He explained to me as he has to you the case for and against municipal ownership in the present state of Chicago politics. He believed this bill meant indirect corporation control. Then the Interests—the same Interests—came to me about the other two bills. You see,” said Sara prettily, “we’re partners, and I act as a sort of secretary to the combination and write the letters and see the visitors.”
Matthew groaned in spirit, and one lady whispered to another that here was, at least, one ideal family.
“I promised them our support,” continued Sara, “without further thought. I probably assumed I knew more than I did, and perhaps I
