the citizens of the U.S., he wuz mad as a wet hen, a male wet hen, and wuz
bound she shouldn't go.

Some men, and mebby it is love that makes 'em feel so (they say it is), and
mebby it is selfishness (though they won't own up to it), but they want
the women they love to belong to them alone, want to rule absolutely over
their hearts, their souls, their bodies, and all their thoughts and aims,
desires, and fancies. They don't really say they want 'em to wear veils,
and be shet in behind lattice-windowed harems, but I believe they would
enjoy it.

They want to be foot loose and heart loose themselves, but always after
Ulysses is tired of world wandering, he wants to come back and open the
barred doors of home with his own private latch-key, and find Penelope
knitting stockings for him with her veil on, waitin' for him.

That sperit is I spoze inherited from the days when our ancestor, the Cave
man, would knock down the woman he fancied, with a club, and carry her off
into his cave and keep her there shet up. But little by little men are
forgettin' their ancestral traits, and men and wimmen are gradually comin'
out of their dark caverns into the sunshine (for women too have inherited
queer traits and disagreeable ones, but that is another story).

Well, as I said, Royal wuz mad and told Polly that he guessed that the day
of the Parade he would take Maud Vincent out in the country in his motor,
to gather May-flowers. Polly told him she hoped they would have a good
time, and then, after he had gone, drivin' his car lickety-split, harem
skarum, owin' to his madness I spoze, Polly went upstairs and cried, for I
hearn her, her room wuz next to ourn.