第68章 XI(6)

As the hall in which we were to speak was enor- m ous, he declared that one of two things would cer- t ainly happen. Either I would scream in order to be heard by my great audience, or I would be un- a ble to make myself heard at all. If I screamed it would be a powerful argument against women as public speakers; if I could not be heard, it would be an even better argument. In either case, he sum- m ed up, I was doomed to failure. Following out this theory, he posted men in the extreme rear of the great hall on the day of my lecture, to report to him whether my words reached them, while he him- s elf graciously occupied a front seat. Bishop Vin- c ent's antagonistic feeling was so strong, however, that though, as the presiding officer of the occasion, he introduced me to the audience, he did not wait to hear my speech, but immediately left the hall-- a nd this little slight added to the public's interest in the debate. It was felt that the two gentlemen were not quite ``playing fair,'' and the champions of the Cause were especially enthusiastic in their efforts to make up for these failures in courtesy.

My friends turned out in force to hear the lecture, and on the breast of every one of them flamed the yellow bow that stood for suffrage, giving to the vast hall something of the effect of a field of yellow tulips in full bloom.

When Dr. Buckley rose to reply the next day these friends were again awaiting him with an equal- l y jocund display of the suffrage color, and this did not add to his serenity. During his remarks he made the serious mistake of losing his temper; and, unfortunately for him, he directed his wrath toward a very old man who had thoughtlessly applauded by pounding on the floor with his cane when Dr.

Buckley quoted a point I had made. The doctor leaned forward and shook his fist at him.

``Think she's right, do you?'' he asked.

``Yes,'' admitted the venerable citizen, briskly, though a little startled by the manner of the ques- t ion.

``Old man,'' shouted Dr. Buckley, ``I'll make you take that back if you've got a grain of sense in your head!''

The insult cost him his audience. When he realized this he lost all his self-possession, and, as the Buffalo Courier put it the next day, ``went up and down the platform raving like a Billingsgate fishwife.'' He lost the debate, and the supply of yellow ribbon left in the surrounding counties was purchased that night to be used in the suffrage celebration that followed. My friends still refer to the occasion as ``the day we wiped up the earth with Dr. Buckley''; but I do not deserve the im- p lied tribute, for Dr. Buckley would have lost his case without a word from me. What really gave me some satisfaction, however, was the respective degree of freshness with which he and I emerged from our combat. After my speech Miss Anthony and I were given a reception, and stood for hours shaking hands with hundreds of men and women.

Later in the evening we had a dinner and another reception, which, lasting, as they did, until midnight, kept us from our repose. Dr. Buckley, poor gentle- m an, had to be taken to his hotel immediately after his speech, given a hot bath, rubbed down, and put tenderly to bed; and not even the sympathetic heart of Susan B. Anthony yearned over him when she heard of his exhaustion.

It was also at Chautauqua, by the way, though a number of years earlier, that I had my much mis- q uoted encounter with the minister who deplored the fashion I followed in those days of wearing my hair short. This young man, who was rather a pompous person, saw fit to take me to task at a table where a number of us were dining together.

``Miss Shaw,'' he said, abruptly, ``I have been asked very often why you wear your hair short, and I have not been able to explain. Of course''-- t his kindly--'' I know there is some good reason. I v entured to advance the theory that you have been ill and that your hair has fallen out. Is that it?''

``No,'' I told him. ``There is a reason, as you suggest. But it is not that one.''

``Then why--'' he insisted.

``I am rather sensitive about it,'' I explained.

``I don't know that I care to discuss the subject.''

The young minister looked pained. ``But among friends--'' he protested.

``True,'' I conceded. ``Well, then, among friends, I will admit frankly that it is a birthmark. I was born with short hair.''

That was the last time my short hair was criticized in my presence, but the young minister was right in his disapproval and I was wrong, as I subsequently realized. A few years later I let my hair grow long, for I had learned that no woman in public life can afford to make herself conspicuous by any eccen- t ricity of dress or appearance. If she does so she suffers for it herself, which may not disturb her, and to a greater or less degree she injures the cause she represents, which should disturb her very much.