The Bostonians, Vol. II | Page 7

streets, which, with their
little wooden houses, with still more wooden door-yards, looked as if
they had been constructed by the nearest carpenter and his boy--a
sightless, soundless, interspaced, embryonic region--and entered a long
avenue which, fringed on either side with fresh villas, offering
themselves trustfully to the public, had the distinction of a wide
pavement of neat red brick. The new paint on the square detached
houses shone afar off in the transparent air: they had, on top, little
cupolas and belvederes, in front a pillared piazza, made bare by the
indoor life of winter, on either side a bow-window or two, and
everywhere an embellishment of scallops, brackets, cornices, wooden
flourishes. They stood, for the most part, on small eminences, lifted
above the impertinence of hedge or paling, well up before the world,
with all the good conscience which in many cases came, as Ransom
saw (and he had noticed the same ornament when he traversed with
Olive the quarter of Boston inhabited by Miss Birdseye), from a
silvered number, affixed to the glass above the door, in figures huge
enough to be read by the people who, in the periodic horse-cars,
travelled along the middle of the avenue. It was to these glittering
badges that many of the houses on either side owed their principal
identity. One of the horse-cars now advanced in the straight, spacious
distance; it was almost the only object that animated the prospect,
which, in its large cleanness, its implication of strict business-habits on
the part of all the people who were not there, Ransom thought very
impressive. As he went on with Verena he asked her about the

Women's Convention, the year before; whether it had accomplished
much work and she had enjoyed it.
"What do you care about the work it accomplished?" said the girl. "You
don't take any interest in that."
"You mistake my attitude. I don't like it, but I greatly fear it."
In answer to this Verena gave a free laugh. "I don't believe you fear
much!"
"The bravest men have been afraid of women. Won't you even tell me
whether you enjoyed it? I am told you made an immense sensation
there--that you leaped into fame."
Verena never waved off an allusion to her ability, her eloquence; she
took it seriously, without any flutter or protest, and had no more
manner about it than if it concerned the goddess Minerva. "I believe I
attracted considerable attention; of course, that's what Olive wants--it
paves the way for future work. I have no doubt I reached many that
wouldn't have been reached otherwise. They think that's my great
use--to take hold of the outsiders, as it were; of those who are
prejudiced or thoughtless, or who don't care about anything unless it's
amusing. I wake up the attention."
"That's the class to which I belong," Ransom said. "Am I not an
outsider? I wonder whether you would have reached me--or waked up
my attention!"
Verena was silent awhile, as they walked; he heard the light click of her
boots on the smooth bricks. Then--"I think I have waked it up a little,"
she replied, looking straight before her.
"Most assuredly! You have made me wish tremendously to contradict
you."
"Well, that's a good sign."

"I suppose it was very exciting--your convention," Ransom went on, in
a moment; "the sort of thing you would miss very much if you were to
return to the ancient fold."
"The ancient fold, you say very well, where women were slaughtered
like sheep! Oh, last June, for a week, we just quivered! There were
delegates from every State and every city; we lived in a crowd of
people and of ideas; the heat was intense, the weather magnificent, and
great thoughts and brilliant sayings flew round like darting fireflies.
Olive had six celebrated, high-minded women staying in her
house--two in a room; and in the summer evenings we sat in the open
windows, in her parlour, looking out on the bay, with the lights
gleaming in the water, and talked over the doings of the morning, the
speeches, the incidents, the fresh contributions to the cause. We had
some tremendously earnest discussions, which it would have been a
benefit to you to hear, or any man who doesn't think that we can rise to
the highest point. Then we had some refreshment--we consumed
quantities of ice-cream!" said Verena, in whom the note of gaiety
alternated with that of earnestness, almost of exaltation, in a manner
which seemed to Basil Ransom absolutely and fascinatingly original.
"Those were great nights!" she added, between a laugh and a sigh.
Her description of the convention put the scene before him vividly; he
seemed to see the crowded, overheated hall, which he was sure was
filled with carpet-baggers, to hear flushed