of the papooses? Who would grind the corn and till the soil and do all
the rest of the dirty work? So they passed a new law. The first squaw
that ever touched a bow and arrow in the future would be severely
punished."

As Dolly paused at this point there was great laughter among both men
and women. Even Mrs. Timmons was clapping her hands.

"Warren Wilks," Dolly resumed, with a pleased smile, "drew a funny
picture just now of an election under the new idea. You all laughed
heartily when he spoke of there being so many fine hats and waving
plumes and women with low-necked dresses and open-work stockings about
the polls that bashful men would be afraid to vote. But, mind you,
Warren Wilks was making all _that_ up. Listen to me, and I'll tell you
what one of your elections really looks like. I've seen one, and that
was enough for me. At the precinct of Ridgeville, where only two
hundred votes have ever been polled, there were at the last county
election fully a hundred drunk from morning to night, including the
candidates. They had ten fights that day; three men were cut and two
shot. The price of a vote was a drink of whisky, but a voter seldom
closed a trade till he had ten in him, and then the candidate who was
sober enough to carry him to the box on his back got the vote."
[Laughter, long and loud.]

"Go it, Miss Dolly! You've got 'em on the run!" Farmer Timmons cried.
"Swat 'em good an' hard! They started it!"

"That's the way men conduct their elections," Dolly went on,
smilingly. "But the women of the present day wouldn't stand it. They
would change it right away. They wouldn't continue giving the men an