Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 61, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 March 1916 — “SENORITA” BROWN [ARTICLE]

“SENORITA” BROWN

By HERMANCE WOODS.

It was In Professor Alonso's “Spanish In Twenty Lessons"-, class that Tom Edgeviteod first met her. Tom was learning the Castilian tongue because It was part of his scheme of personal advancement to become a member of the South American agency of the concern for which he worked. But when Tom asked the girl why Bhe was giving her time to the twenty lessons she smiled charmingly and replied: “Why shouldn’t I? One has to do something. “Then have you nothing else to do?” There were several ambitious young stenographers in the class and Tom thought perhaps she, too, was learning the language for business purposes. “No, nothing much," she answered. “One can’t play bridge and dance all the time. Oh, I do go in for suffrage a little, and, of course, there are things to do at home, but I find Spanish very diverting.” There had already been fifteen lessons of the course, and although Tom had never been able to find out the girl’s name except that the professor called her “Senorita Brown," he had as a matter of fact become, as he thought, fairly well acquainted. At the seventeenth lesson, he had summoned courage sufficient to linger after elaBS with her and beg the privilege of calling on her, but she merely laughed archly and asked him why he wanted to see her outside of class. She didn’t exactly discourage him. She gave him permission, in fact* but she did not tell him where she lived and Tom’s courage vanished before he had asked her for her address. „ —- But Tom had —for some reason that he couldn’t readily explain to his own satisfaction at the time —given the girl a much better idea of his own activities. In fact, he confided to her, a« hp had confided in no one else, the

ambition that was leading him to seek a career in Spanish-America. This all took place before and after Professor Alonso’s lessons, and as the girl always arrived early and did not seem to be inclined to cut the after-lesson talks short, Tom felt that she at least found a passing interest in him. “I’d awfully like to know you better,” he told her one day —It was the nineteenth lesson in the series. “I have wanted to call, but you didn’t seem to want me to.” “But I said you might if you cared to.” “And then you wouldn’t tell me where you lived. In the meantime, I have told you everything about myself, my plans and ambitions. There Is a lot I would like-fto talk to you about. We might eveh air our Spanish a little. I happen to have the afternoon off. Won’t you come with me to luncheon —anywhere you say—and let me have a chance to know you a little better?”

“I should like to so much,” she said with regret, “although of course, it would be dreadfully unconventional, but I am afraid I can’t. I am going to be busy; in fact, I mustn’t stop a minute after class. I really ought not to have come to class at all this morning.” • Tom pleaded a little. “I didn’t want to tell you,” she explained, “but I am busy this afternoon with the suffrage parade.” Here Tom recalled later that he saw her flush ever so slightly. “No particular reason why you shouldn’t want to tell me that, is there? You don’t imagine, do you, that I am one of those sentimentalists who fpel a prejudice against having women at the polls or in a suffrage parade if they choose to be there? I am sorry, of course, if that is what keeps you from lunching with me. But go ahead, little lady, and do your best. If I were a suffrage organization I wouldn’t want to miss having you in the line, I’m sure. And perhaps you will go with me some other time.”

“Promise one thing,” she asked as they parted. “Promise you won’t watch the parade this afternoon.’’ “I wonT gbffPtuteiy promise ,’-hesaid, “but I will try to resist the temptation of seeing you again this afternoon.” The next meeting of the Spanish class was the last in the series. Tom EflgeWood"waa-~te~b4a. plane at the -jiimariinin and Bowaathgyoung woman wbose next to his. But in Tom's grreeting there was a note of distance and none of the usual cheerful caffieraderie. He looked intently ather,withal6bktbatwa»€alculated to show her his displeasure, but the young woman, apparently, did not read his meaning. _. _ _ After clash, she hesitated for her usual exchange of pleasantries. Why didn’t he urge again for permission to call. Why didn’t he say anything about the postponed luncheon engagement? “We had a wonderful crowd out for the parade,” she said as an attempt to evade personalities, but this seemed to touch a sore point with Tom. “Yes," he said, averting her look, and then said no more. Aa there seemed to be no more conversation? the girl started out of the room, and after two or three minutes Tom followed her. She had waited for him ~ln the hall and they took the same elevator to the entrancerof the building. “You are very cool,”, she said, as she joined him on his way out. “Not cool, Senorita Brown,” he said, with a forced laugh and an emphasis on the senorita. “I am really rather gUd that I didn’t follow your inatruc-

tion to stay away from the parade, for now I can apologize for my rudeness in asking you to take luncheon with me and in pressing you for the permission to call. You will 1 accept my apologies, won’t you?’ “Apologies—why apologize? What did the parade have to do with that?" And then she stopped and looked in amazement at him. “Do you think I am married? Is that it?” “1 don't know what else to think. Why else, in the name of common sense, would you be trundling a baby carriage along the street for three miles with the banner floating over your head, ‘We, the Mothers, Demand the Vote,’ and a lot of other similar mottoes? It was a very pretty sight and as Impressive a plea for suffrage as I have ever witnessed, but you can see how I was a trifle surprised. Why don’t you ask Professor Alonso to call you senora Instead of senorita?” “I’m not married, though,” she insisted. “Oh, I want to explain to you, but it is a long story. Perhaps you will come with me how to make that call?" “Better go to luncheon with me, if you are quite sure that no Jealous husbamj ,will interfere. Still there is a deep mystery to solve.” Ten minutes later, Tom and Barbara Brown —for that was the girl’s name —were seated tete-a-tete at a table in Barbara's favorite lunching place.

“Now, I shall proceed to explain,” she began, talking across the softly lighted table. “You know I asked you not to come. I was afraid that something would happen so that - I wouldn’t want you to he there. I hurried down to headquarters where the line of march started just as soon as I left you. Well, I had planned to march in the young unmarried women’s section —dressed In flowing white robes, carrying all sorts of pretty banners. One of the sections that had been counted on most was to be the mothers’ section, with a lot of young mothers pushing their precious babies in baby carriages. Well, about an hour and a half before starting time the chairman of the committee m charge of the parade learned that while there were to be some four or five hundred girls in the unmarried women’s brigade there were only Just about ten In the mothers’ section. “I heard of the trouble an<f, being on the committee, I figured that something had to be done and that I was the one to do it. We had got to .have some babies and some.,baby car- ■ riages and some mothers. Well, 1 went to the brigade of young unmarried women, who were already beginning to assemble, and picked out some of the best sports in the crowd and told them what I was going to do. Then I went to the department’store on the opposite corner. 1 happened to know one of the members nf the company—friend of dad’s. I found him in and told him that we wanted tc borrow fifty baby carriages of as sorted designs and we’d got to have them delivered within an hour. He staggered a little, but I told him we wouldn’t hurt them for future sales and If we did dad would stand the damage. So he agreed.

“Then the question was where to find the babies. I got the fifty girls that were willing to go in for it, and we all went uptown to the foundling asylum. The matron is a suffragist, thank fortune. I told her to let us have fifty of her sturdiest young orphans right away, thank you. She was a little nervous about it —said she might get into trouble with the authorities if they heard about it, but I asured her that if she lost her job there dad—he is Congressman Brown, you know 1 -—would get her something betteiTttrdo. We did look pretty impressive, didn’t we? I am sure we got more cheers than any other section, and’ the papers all gave us a big w'rite-up, and said a lot about the pluck of the little suffrage mothers who went through the long march. Well, that’s how it happened,” Barbara concluded. Tom gave a mighty sight of relief. “It certainly is mighty comforting tc know that you are senorita after all, he said. (Copyright, 1916; by the McClure Newspa, u per Syndicate.)