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an animal. Then she comes up and
throws her arms round my neck and
kisses me, and I know she's the same
"We had a party that afternoon,
the queerest folks. All the men wore
jaded looks and loose black ties, and
the women were dressed any old way.
The things they talked about I'd be
ashamed to tell you, but I didn't look
"'Auntie,' says Cynthy, when we
were alone again, T don't know
whether you'd care to have dinner
with me at the Eclectic Club tonight.
It costs twenty-five cents and there's
a discussion afterward.'
" 'What's it about?' I asks.
" 'It's called "Should Women Have
Children?'" says Cynthy, looking at
" 'Why, that suits me to the
ground," I answers. 'I've always
wanted to know. What's the answer?'
"'Well,' says Cynthy, 'some will
say yes and some no, and it will be a
very interesting debate.'
"It was. I was feeling sort of
empty after the dinner, but that talk
filled me all right. I'd never heard
anything like it.
" 'I'm afraid you must be shocked,
auntie, with your old-fashioned
ways,' says Cynthy, when we'd shook
off the art people and got home.
" 'Shocked?' I answered.. 'Why,
Cynthy, I feel the art rising in my
bones. That's the sort of message
that the world needs. And to think
of the years we've wasted with your
Uncle Abe and that poor dub, Fred
Holden, who don't know art from a
turnip. My, I'm glad he's hankering
after that Lucy Brown.'
"Cynthy seemed quite shocked,
'what do you mean, auntie?' she
asks. So I told her how Lucy and
Fred, went walking out on Sundays
and how the neighbors was sort of
speculative about 'em. Cynthy didn't
say much more that night. I slept
on the floor, on five sofa pillows. I
didn't like it, but she never knew.
"Cynthy didn't seem quite so bright
the next few days. Every time she
took me out I'd ask her, disappointed
like, if that was the best she could
show me. I said I wanted to hear a
real artistic debate. I didn't want to,
know if women should have children,
I told her, but how many, and why..
The meals I put down was terrible, j
" 'Aunty,.' said Cynthy, at last, tak-j.
ing me by the shoulders, 'tell meyI
honestly, ain't you shocked at all?' $
" 'Why, no,' says I. 'I think it's
lovely to have the artistic spirit. My,j
what do we care about those poor
creatures at home?'
" 'But, aunty, I I do care about
them,' says Cynthy, strangling a sob.
" 'But we've flung 'em overboard,"
I says, executing a Pa Soul about the
room. 'We're the army of the future,
Cynthy, the army of martyrs. We've
left home and husband and sweet
heart for art's sake. When're. we
going to the club again?'
" 'But don't father and mother
mind me being artistic?' asks Cynthy.
" 'They love it,' I answered. 'And
Fred says he's glad he found out the
narrerness of his soul, being only a
country lawyer, or he might have
made your life miserable. Don't you
want 'em to approve of your taking
to art, Cynthy?'
" 'No,' sobs Cynthy, 'I wanted to
shpck 'em, aunt. I hate art.'
" 'Hate art!' I exclaimed. 'Cynthy,
you make me feel terrible. How am
I going to appease my hankerings if
you're going back on me?'
" 'But it's different,' says Cynthy,
now fairly crying. 'You've gofTJncle
Abe, and you were always contented
at home, and now I've led you astray,
at your age and made him miserable,
and I'd never have Jeft Monattah,
only Fred told me if f did he'd never
ask me to return, and I couldn't take
that from him but it all makes me
sick, Aunt Lidy.'
" 'So it does me, Cynthy,' I answer
ed. 'And maybe I got that wrong
about Fred Holden and Lucy Brown.
Now I come to think of it, it was Jack
Higgins was going with her. My,