He had admitted their economic value--they
filled every possible place in the large establishment of the Turnbull
Bakery; rather, they performed all the light manual labor. There they
were more satisfactory than men, more easily controlled--yes, and
cheaper. But in Congress, voting, women in communities reporting on
factory conditions were a dangerous nuisance.
He had left the poorer part, and the suavity of the succeeding streets
rapidly increased to a soothing luxury. Wide cottages occupied velvet-
green lawns, and the women he saw were of the sort he approved--closely
skirted creatures with smooth shoulders in transparent crepe de Chine.
They invited a contemplative eye, the thing for which they were
created--a pleasure for men; that and maternity.
The automobile turned toward the sea and stopped at his house midway in
the block. It was a square dwelling painted white with a roof of
tapestry slate, and broad awning-covered veranda on the sea. A
sprinkler was flashing on the lawn, dripping over the concrete pavement
and filling the air with a damp coolness. No one was visible and,
leaving his hat and coat on a chair in an airy hall furnished in black
wicker and flowery chintz hangings on buff walls, he descended to the
basement dressing rooms.
In his bathing suit he presented a figure of vigorous glowing well-
being. Only the silvering hair at his temples, the fatty bulge across
the back of his neck, and a considerable stomach indicated his
multiplying years.
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