“You are helping transportation—­agriculture—­commerce.  And if that isn’t better, nobler work than washing, ironing, getting your own meals, washing your own dishes, and doing the same old round of profitless chores day after day, and year after year, from the hour you are old enough to work, till the hour you are old enough to die—­well, then, I’m wrong and Helen’s right; and I ought to have married Wally—­and not one of you women ought to be here today!”

A whisper arose in her mind. “....Somebody’s got to do the housework....”

“Yes, but it needn’t take up a woman’s whole life,” she shortly told herself, “any more than it does a man’s.  I’m sure there must be some way...some way....”

She stopped, a sudden flush striking along her cheek as she caught the first glimpse of her golden vision—­that vision which may some day change the history of the human race.  “Oh, if I only could!” she breathed to herself.  “If I only could!”

She slowly returned to the office.  Judge Cutler was waiting to see her, just back from his visit to Washington.

“Well?” she asked eagerly, shutting the door.  “Are they going to boycott us?”

“I don’t think so,” he answered.  “I told them how it started.  As far as I can find out, the strike here is a local affair.  The men I saw disclaimed any knowledge or responsibility for it.

“Of course, I pointed out that women had the vote now, and that boycotts were catching....  But I don’t think you need worry.

“They’re splendid men—­all of them.  I’m sure you’d like them, Mary.  They are all interested in what you are doing, but I think they are marking time a little—­waiting to see how things turn out before they commit themselves one way or the other.”

Mary thrilled at that.

“More than ever now it depends on me,” she thought, and another surge of greatness seemed to lift her like a flood.

The judge’s voice recalled her.

“On my way back,” he was saying, “I stopped in New York and engaged a firm of accountants to come and look over the books.  They are busy now, but I told them there was no hurry—­that we only wanted their suggestions—­”

“I had forgotten about that,” said Mary.

“So had I. What do you suppose reminded me of it?”

She shook her head.

“One of the first men I saw in Washington was Burdon Woodward.”

“I think it just happened that way,” said Mary uneasily.  “He told me he was going away for a few days, but I’m sure he only did it to get out of going to Helen’s wedding.”

“Well, anyhow, no harm done.  It was the sight of him down there that reminded me:  that’s all....  How has everything been running here?  Smoothly, I hope?”

Smoothly, yes.  That was the week when Mary sent her letters to the papers, announcing that the women at Spencer & Son’s had not only equalled past outputs, but were working within a closer degree of accuracy.