"Well, I'll go in the morning, and I'll come home with a pass in an
hour, I promise you."

The next morning Mrs. Lively started for the hall at eight o'clock,
determined to procure a place at the head of the line. But, early
as was the hour, she found the doors already besieged. There were
at least three dozen women ahead of her. She took her place very
ungraciously at the foot of the line. At nine the doors were opened,
and the first comers admitted. Ten o'clock came, and Mrs. Lively was
still in the street--had not even reached the stairs. Eleven o'clock
came--she stood on the second step. At length she had reached the top
step but one, and it was not yet twelve.

"It doesn't seem fair," she said to the doorkeeper, "that the men
should have to wait, day after day, till all the women in the city are
served."

"No," assented the keeper, "it is not fair. Now, there are men in that
line who have been here for four days. They'd have done better
and saved time if they'd gone to work in the burnt district moving
rubbish, and earned their railroad passage."

Mrs. Lively's suggestion of unfairness proved an unfortunate one for
her, for the keeper conceived the idea of acting on it.

"It isn't fair," he repeated, "and I mean to let some of those fellows
in."

"Oh, do let me in first," she cried, but the keeper had already