tiptoe, but she could see nothing. It brought to her mind
the Circus Day of her Winnebago childhood, with Elm street
packed with townspeople and farmers, all straining their
eyes up toward Cherry street, the first turn in the line of
march. Then, far away, the blare of a band. "Here they
come!" Just then, far down the canyon of Fifth avenue,
sounded the cry that had always swayed Elm street,
Winnebago. "Here they come!"

"What is it?" Fanny asked a woman against whom she found
herself close-packed. "What are they waiting for?"

"It's the suffrage parade," replied the woman. "The big
suffrage parade. Don't you know?"

"No. I haven't been here." Fanny was a little
disappointed. The crowd had surged forward, so that it was
impossible for her to extricate herself. She found herself
near the curb. She could see down the broad street now, and
below Twenty-third street it was a moving, glittering mass,
pennants, banners, streamers flying. The woman next her
volunteered additional information.

"The mayor refused permission to let them march. But
they fought it, and they say it's the greatest suffrage
parade ever held. I'd march myself, only--"

"Only what?"

"I don't know. I'm scared to, I think. I'm not a New