Oh, Well, You Know How Women Are
SHE emerges from the shop. She is any
woman, and the shop from which she emerges
is any shop in any town. She has been shopping. This does not imply that she has been buying anything or that she has contemplated buying anything, but merely that she has been shopping a very different pursuit from buying. Buying implies business for the shop; shopping merely implies business for the clerks.
As stated, she emerges. In the doorway she
runs into a woman of her acquaintance. If she
likes the other woman she is cordial. But if she
does not like her she is very, very cordial. A
woman's aversion for another woman moving in
the same social stratum in which she herself moves
may readily be appraised. Invariably it is in
inverse ratio to the apparent affection she displays
upon encountering the object of her disfavor. Why should this be? I cannot answer. It is not given for us to know.
Very well, then, she meets the other woman at
the door. They stop for conversation. Two men
meeting under the same condition would mechanically draw away a few paces, out of the route of persons passing in or out of the shop. No particular play of the mental processes would actuate them in so doing; an instinctive impulse, operating mechanically and subconsciously, would impel them to remove themselves from the main path of foot travel. But this woman and her acquaintance take root right there. Persons dodge round them and glare at them. Other persons bump into them, and are glared at by the two traffic blockers. Where they stand they make a knot of confusion.
But does it occur to either of them to suggest
that they might step aside, five feet or ten, and
save themselves, and the pedestrian classes generally, a deal of delay and considerable annoyance? It does not. It never will. If the meeting took place in a narrow passageway or on a populous staircase or at the edge of the orbit of a set of swinging doors or on a fire escape landing upon the front of a burning building, while one was going up to aid in the rescue and the other was coming down to be saved if it took place just outside the Pearly Gates on the Last Day when the quick and the dead, called up for judgment, were streaming in through the portals still would they behave thus. Where they met would be where they stopped to talk, regardless of the consequences to themselves, regardless of impediment to the movements of their fellow beings.
Having had her say with her dear friend or
her dear enemy, as the case may be, our heroine
proceeds to the corner and hails a passing street
car. Because her heels are so high and her skirts
are so snug, she takes about twice the time to
climb aboard that a biped in trousers would take. Into the car she comes, teetering and swaying. The car is no more than comfortably filled. True, all the seats at the back where she has entered are occupied; but up at the front there still is room for another sittee or two. Does she look about her to ascertain whether there is any space left 4 ? I need not pause for reply. I know it already, and so do you. Midway of the aisle-length she stops and reaches for a strap. She makes an appealing picture, compounded of blindness, helplessness, and discomfort. She has clinging vine written all over her. She craves to cling, but there is no trellis. So she swings from her strap.
The passengers nearest her are all men. She
stares at them, accusingly. One of them bends
forward to touch her and tell her that there is
room for her up forward; but now there aren't
any seats left. Male passengers, swinging aboard
behind her, have already scrouged on by her and
taken the vacant places.
In the mind of one of the men in her immediate vicinity chivalry triumphs over impatience. He gives a shrug of petulance, arises and begs her to have his seat. She is not entitled to it on any ground, save compassion upon his part. By refusing to use the eyes in her head she has forfeited all right to special consideration. But he surrenders his place to her and she takes it.