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The Object Of The Federation
by
Of course, she was aware of it; she was thinking of it at this moment, while the Massachusetts woman behind her unpacked her conscience on her nearest Indiana neighbor.
“And how does Indiana stand?” said the evangelist, finally.
“Well, if you ask me,” said the Indianian, wearily, “we have troubles of our own; and we are not thinking much about it!”
At this, her companion (also from Massachusetts, but with a sense of humor), giggled and essayed to cover her indecorum by asking Mrs. Hardy if she had attended the industrial sessions. “I have tried to go to them,” she confessed, later, after they had become confidential. “My husband is a manufacturer, and I was anxious to see whether they would try to get light on the questions that they are tackling, or would simply form an opinion beforehand and talk about it.”
“Well, how did they strike you?”
“They didn’t strike me at all; I went to two of them; but the first one, two southern acquaintances of mine lured me out into a committee-room, to tell me the dreadful things Massachusetts was going to do about the color question–not one of which had entered our heads, by the way–and the other meeting, I sat back in the hall and couldn’t hear anything, and a Massachusetts friend came in, very calm but deeply excited, and got me out in the hall to tell me the plots of the Georgia delegation. Between them, I didn’t hear a word of the industrial question. I’m told Missouri has been studying preventive legislation in regard to woman and child labor for the last year; what did they decide to recommend?”
“Well,” said Mrs. Hardy, drily, “you see they were studying for a year; if they had taken the subject for a month or two, no doubt they would have had opinions; but as it was, they didn’t recommend anything. But what you say about the sessions made me think. I find that there are two classes of delegates, those who are interested in the meetings and those who simply go to the meetings to get a better chance to pull wires. It makes me more at sea than ever about the object of the federation. What do you think it is?”
The Massachusetts woman meditated. She was a handsome woman, a woman with ancestors, it was evident, for the blue and gold of the Colonial Dames badge, and the enamel star and scarlet ribbon of the Order of Colonial Governors illuminated the white chiffon of her bodice; and there were five bars on the scarlet ribbon. “My idea of the object is simply that it is a clearing-house,” said she; “and so far it is democratic, for it brings us all together; and I,” said the descendant of governors and warriors, ” I’m democratic. Look at us. It is not only that we represent so many different classes, we represent so many sections of the country. In fact, about this color question, I feel that it is more important for the north and the south to get acquainted and friendly, working together, than it is for us to give the opportunities of the federation to a few colored people.”
“I don’t look at it that way, it is a question of right and wrong”–thus the ardent soul from Massachusetts unfurled her banner to the breeze–“are you going to do what is right or what is expedient?” The smouldering fire which had made the deck hot walking all through the meetings, showed signs of breaking out of cover; everybody in hearing craned her neck; there were murmurs of approval and polite sniffings of dissent to the right and to the left. The Massachusetts woman said “Life is a compromise;” and shrugged her shoulders. Mrs. Hardy put up the white flag in a mild sentence: “Mrs. Lowe is calling us to order, I think.”