lew by them, the white road flickered forward to their
wheels.

"You interested in the movement?" demanded the flapper again.

"Yes," he said.

"Granny will be delighted to know that. So many young men aren't."

"What make is it?" he inquired, preparing to look enlightened when told
the name of the vehicle in which they rode.

"Oh, I mean the Movement--_the_ movement!"

"Oh, yes," he faltered. "Greatly interested!" He remembered the badge on
her jacket, and Bulger's warning about Grandma, the Demon.

"Granny and I marched in the parade this year, clear down to Washington
Square. If she wasn't so old we'd both run over to London and get
arrested in the Strand for breaking windows."

Bean shuddered.

"We're making our flag now for the next parade--big blue cloth with a
gold star for every state that has raised woman from her degradation by
giving her a vote."

He shuddered again. Although of legal years for the franchise, he had
never voted. If you tried to vote some ward-heeler would challenge you
and you'd like as not be hauled off to the lock-up. And what was the
good of it! The politicians got what they wanted. But this he kept to
himself.

"Granny'll put a badge on you," promised the flapper. "We have to take
advantage of every little means."

He was still puzzling over this when they turned through a gateway,
imposing with its tangle of wrought iron and gilt, and at a decorously
reduced speed crinkled up a wide drive to the vast pile of gray stone
that housed the un-filial Breede.

[Illustration: "Daughter!" said Breede, with half a glance at the
flapper]

A taller and, Bean thought, a prettier girl than the flapper stepped
aside for them, looking at Bean as they passed. One could read her look
as one could not read the flapper's. It was outrageously languishing.

"Flirts with every one, makes no difference _who_!" explained the
flapper with a venomous sniff.

Bean laughed uneasily.

"She's my own dear sister, and I love her, but she's a perfect cat!"

Bean made deprecating sounds with his lips.

"I suppose people have been wondering where I was," confessed the
flapper as they descended upon the granite steps. "I forgot to tell them
I was going. Better hurry to Pops or he'll be murdering some one."

A man took his bag and preceded him into the big hall.

"Engaged, too!" called the flapper bitterly.

He found Breede imprisoned in a large, light room that looked to the
west. Below the wind