A Prisoner of War

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Mrs. Lora Delane Porter, that great woman, was condescending to argue with Herbert Nixon, a mere menial. The points under discussion were three:Ñ

(a) Why had Herbert been absent from duty between the hours of 3 p.m. and midnight on the previous day?

(b) Why had he returned singing?

(c) Why had he divested himself of his upper garments and stood for twenty minutes before the front door, daring the Kaiser to come out and have his head knocked off?

Those were the main counts in Mrs. PorterÕs indictment, and she urged them with the skill of one who for many years had been in the forefront of AmericaÕs Feminist movement. A trained orator and logician, she made mincemeat of Mr. Nixon.

HerbertÕs official position was that of odd-job man to the house which Mrs. Porter had taken for the summer in England. He had gone with the place as a sort of bonus.

ÒYou donÕt understand, maÕam,Ó he said, pityingly. ÒBeing a female, you wouldnÕt understand. ItÕs polerticks. This Ôere country Ôas Ôad to go to warÑÑÓ

ÒAnd so you had to go and stupefy the few brains you possess at the village inn? I donÕt see the connection.Ó

ÒI canÕt argue with you, maÕam,Ó said Mr. Nixon, patiently. ÒMy Ôead donÕt seem just right this morning. All I know isÑÓ

ÒAll I know is that you can go right away now and look for another job.Ó

Ó ÔAve it your own way, maÕam, Ôave it your own way. If you donÕt want me, thereÕs others thatÕll be glad to Ôave me.Ó

ÒDonÕt let me keep you from them,Ó said Mrs. Porter. ÒGood morning.Ó

Herbert vanished, and Mrs. Porter, dipping her pen in the ink, resumed the chapter of ÒWoman in the New EraÓ which his entry had interrupted.

Sybil Bannister came into the room. She was small and fluffy. Mrs. Porter greeted her with an indulgent smile. Ruthless towards the Herbert Nixons, she unbent with Sybil. Sybil was her disciple. She regarded her as a gardener regards some promising young plant.

Six months before Sybil had been what Mrs. Porter called undeveloped. That is to say, she had been content to live a peaceful life in her New York home, worshipping her husband, Mrs. PorterÕs nephew Hailey. The spectacle of a woman worshipping any man annoyed Mrs. Porter. To see one worshipping Hailey, for whom she entertained the contempt which only strong-minded aunts can feel for their nephews, stirred her to her depths.

Hailey, it is true, had not been a perfect husband. He was a rather pompous young man, dictatorial, and inclined to consider that the machinery of the universe should run with his personal comfort as its guiding motive. But Sybil had not noticed these things till Mrs. Porter pointed them out to her. Until Mrs. Porter urged her to assert her rights, she had not thought the matter out sufficiently to understand that she had any.

That determined woman took the situation strongly in hand. Before Hailey knew what had struck him the home was a battlefield, and when the time arrived for Mrs. Porter to go to England things came to a head. She invited Sybil to accompany her. Hailey forbade her to go. Sybil went. That is the whole campaign in a nutshell.

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