View PDF - Brown University Library

Mr. Boyle 61think 'tis thot sort yez have to be makin'your livin' out of, glory be to God," Mr.Boyle concluded reverently. Whetherthe reverence accrued to deity or the lawdid not appear. "An' the fakes yez dohave to be supportin'!" he went on reflectively." Poor byes ! To be trainin'in a coorse of false shtatemints.""Now, what's this attack for?" AlanHuntington demanded. "Law is to upholdlight and truth, not falsehood; don'tyou know that? And, 'Lex non curat deminimis,' anyhow," he flung out magnificently.Mr. Boyle clucked. "Whisht! 'Tis apity to shpake black curses to wan thotwishes yez well. An' a foine young manlike yez. I mishdoubt 'tis not thrue, onnyhow,"he decided with his twinklingsmile." Not true—' Lex non curat'? It's thetruest thing in history. 'Lex non curatunum damnum' is even truer. What'sstricken your confidence in the majestyof the law to-night, Mr. Boyle?""Me confidence, is ut? Well, thin, 'tisa thing, and Oi've been considerin' ut.'Tis what I was afther readin' last noightin wan of thim books itself—thot manan' woife is wan per-rson. Domn ! 'Tisnot th' fact," and Mr. Boyle's powerfulfist came whack on "Thomas on Negligence,"lying on Alan Huntington'sdesk."Oh, that riled you, didn't it?" spokeHuntington. "But you don't really believein women's rights and hysterics atthe polls and ladies in the legislature,do you?"Mr. Boyle bent earnestly toward theyoung man and shook a threatening finger."What's thot—th' legislachure?"he demanded."The legislature?" Huntington wasstartled by the sudden conundrum. Buthe was quick-witted and his answer wasprompt. "The legislature is a representativebody elected by the people of theState.""An' be th' wimmin people?" cameback.Huntington smiled a sarcastic smilewhich narrowed his black, brilliant eyesand made his slightly hard young mouthlook older. "Well, no. In law, criminals,lunatics, and women are not people," headmitted, and watched the janitor's intenseface."Uh!" Mr. Boyle considered, laboringwith his untaught brain against theseyoung princes of intellect. And then:"Thim legislachures, do they be legislatin'for pure love of their fellow min?""No, no." Everybody was listeningto the dialogue, wondering what Mr.Boyle was getting at. "No," said youngHuntington.course?""An' by whom?""Why, by the people.""They're paid salaries, ofHuntingtonwas bored—one wasted time talking tothis old duffer too long."An' be the wimmin people, thin?"brought out Mr. Boyle, and shook a bigfinger triumphantly. " 'Tis no need toask, whin there's payin' or wor-rk to do.Wimmin are the people for thim things.'Tis the droll wurrold," commented Mr.Boyle, and the board vigorously upheldthe victory of the pickaxe against theforty-two-centimetre gun."He's got you, Huntington, he's gotyou fair," Cass Emory shouted. Flushedwith success, Mr. Boyle went on."'Tis droll, argifyin'. Oi've heard twoways about ut, an' Oi've read two waysabout ut on more than siveral p'ints,an', however you go at ut, 'tis proved thotwimmin won't do. 'Tis said they're toofoine an' honor-rable to be p'luted wid th'votin'; 'tis also said they've no sinse ofhonor whativer and couldn't be thrustedwid a vote. 'Tis said they'd all vote whotway their min voted; 'tis also said they'dvote against their min an' make roits intofamilies; 'tis said they'd not take anyintris' in votin'; 'tis fear-red thot all thday long they'd be votin' and votin' an'interruptin' their homes. Niver in meloife have I hear-rd so many reasons on somany sides of a thrubble, an' all ag'instit. Yez can't be sint to jail f'r ut—'tisno crime exactly, bein' a woman, but 'tisa dishgrace," finished Mr. Boyle, andflashed a blue glance over the roomful oflads and plunged it like a sword into theblack look of Alan Huntington."Bless your soul, Mr. Boyle," Byrd,editor in chief, spoke, "they'd have youon the stump at a large salary if theyheard you talk down at the Woman'sNational Suffrage Headquarters. What's