suffrage color, and
this did not add to his serenity. During his remarks he made the serious
mistake of losing his temper; and, unfortunately for him, he directed
his wrath toward a very old man who had thoughtlessly applauded by
pounding on the floor with his cane when Dr. Buckley quoted a point I
had made. The doctor leaned forward and shook his fist at him.

"Think she's right, do you?" he asked.

"Yes," admitted the venerable citizen, briskly, though a little startled
by the manner of the question.

"Old man," shouted Dr. Buckley, "I'll make you take that back if you've
got a grain of sense in your head!"

The insult cost him his audience. When he realized this he lost all his
self-possession, and, as the Buffalo Courier put it the next day, "went
up and down the platform raving like a Billingsgate fishwife." He lost
the debate, and the supply of yellow ribbon left in the surrounding
counties was purchased that night to be used in the suffrage celebration
that followed. My friends still refer to the occasion as "the day we
wiped up the earth with Dr. Buckley"; but I do not deserve the implied
tribute, for Dr. Buckley would have lost his case without a word from
me. What really gave me some satisfaction, however, was the respective
degree of freshness with which he and I emerged from our combat. After
my speech Miss Anthony and I were given a reception, and stood for hours
shaking hands with hundreds of men and women. Later in the evening we
had a dinner and another reception, which, lasting, as they did, until
midnight, kept us from our repose. Dr. Buckley, poor gentleman, had to
be taken to his hotel immediately after his speech, given a hot bath,
rubbed down, and put tenderly to bed; and not even the sympathetic heart
of Susan B. Anthony yearned over him when she heard of his exhaustion.

It was also at Chautauqua, by the way, though a number of years earlier,
that I had my much misquoted encounter with the minister who deplored
the fashion I followed in those days of wearing my hair short. This
young man, who was rather a pompous person, saw fit to take me to task
at a table where a number of us were dining together.

"Miss Shaw," he said, abruptly, "I have been asked very often why
you wear your hair short, and I have not been able to explain. Of
course"--this kindly--"I know there is some good reason. I ventured to
advance the theory that you have been ill and that your hair has fallen
out. Is that it?"