"And so," she said calmly, waxing eloquent as her power grew, "you and
the like of you would take an honest woman's living from her, and she
a God-be-praised widow at that, because you can't control the beast in
yourselves and can't train the cubs of your kennels!"
This was going to great lengths, and many a listener who sided with Mary
was chilled by her offensive words.
"Come! come!" warned Hornby, the father of the recently lured Jamsie,
"them ain't exactly womanly terms, are they?"
But Mary was on her high horse. Availing herself of the safety her sex
secured for her, she struck left and right without grace or favour, and
her audience gaped while they listened.
"Oh, I know! 'Tis this year a dry town with me ruined, and it's next year
a wet town with McAlpin, Hornby, or another creature in trousers taking
my place; and after that there will be no more dry town for ever and
ever! It's not morals you are after, but a man-controlled tavern. Blast
ye!" A sneer marked Mary's thin, dark face. "You want your drinks and
your freedom, but you say you fear for your lads. Shame on you! Have
I no lads?"
Silence.
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