``AUNT SUSAN''
In The Life of Susan B. Anthony it is mentioned that 1888 was a year of special recognition of our great leader's work, but that it was also the year in which many of her closest friends and strongest supporters were taken from her by death. A. Bron- s on Alcott was among these, and Louisa M. Alcott, as well as Dr. Lozier; and special stress is laid on Miss Anthony's sense of loss in the diminishing circle of her friends--a loss which new friends and workers came forward, eager to supply.
``Chief among these,'' adds the record, ``was Anna Shaw, who, from the time of the International Coun- c il in '88, gave her truest allegiance to Miss An- t hony.''
It is true that from that year until Miss Anthony's death in 1906 we two were rarely separated; and I never read the paragraph I have just quoted with- o ut seeing, as in a vision, the figure of ``Aunt Susan'' a s she slipped into my hotel room in Chicago late one night after an evening meeting of the Inter- n ational Council. I had gone to bed--indeed, I was almost asleep when she came, for the day had been as exhausting as it was interesting. But notwith- s tanding the lateness of the hour, ``Aunt Susan,'' t hen nearing seventy, was still as fresh and as full of enthusiasm as a young girl. She had a great deal to say, she declared, and she proceeded to say it-- s itting in a big easy-chair near the bed, with a rug around her knees, while I propped myself up with pillows and listened.
Hours passed and the dawn peered wanly through the windows, but still Miss Anthony talked of the Cause always of the Cause--and of what we two must do for it. The previous evening she had been too busy to eat any dinner, and I greatly doubt whether she had eaten any luncheon at noon. She had been on her feet for hours at a time, and she had held numerous discussions with other women she wished to inspire to special effort. Yet, after it all, here she was laying out our campaigns for years ahead, foreseeing everything, forgetting nothing, and sweeping me with her in her flight toward our com- m on goal, until I, who am not easily carried off my feet, experienced an almost dizzy sense of exhilara- t ion.
Suddenly she stopped, looked at the gas-jets paling in the morning light that filled the room, and for a fleeting instant seemed surprised. In the next she had dismissed from her mind the realization that we had talked all night. Why should we not talk all night? It was part of our work. She threw off the enveloping rug and rose.
``I must dress now,'' she said, briskly. ``I've called a committee meeting before the morning session.''
On her way to the door nature smote her with a rare reminder, but even then she did not realize that it was personal. ``Perhaps,'' she remarked, tenta- t ively, ``you ought to have a cup of coffee.''
That was ``Aunt Susan.'' And in the eighteen years which followed I had daily illustrations of her superiority to purely human weaknesses. To her the hardships we underwent later, in our Western campaigns for woman suffrage, were as the airiest trifles. Like a true soldier, she could snatch a mo- m ent of sleep or a mouthful of food where she found it, and if either was not forthcoming she did not miss it. To me she was an unceasing inspira- t ion--the torch that illumined my life. We went through some difficult years together--years when we fought hard for each inch of headway we gained --but I found full compensation for every effort in the glory of working with her for the Cause that was first in both our hearts, and in the happiness of being her friend. Later I shall describe in more detail the suffrage campaigns and the National and Inter- n ational councils in which we took part; now it is of her I wish to write--of her bigness, her many- s idedness, her humor, her courage, her quickness, her sympathy, her understanding, her force, her supreme common-sense, her selflessness; in short, of the rare beauty of her nature as I learned to know it.
Like most great leaders, she took one's best work for granted, and was chary with her praise; and even when praise was given it usually came by indirect routes. I recall with amusement that the highest compliment she ever paid me in public involved her in a tangle from which, later, only her quick wit extricated her. We were lecturing in an especially pious town which I shall call B----, and just before I went on the platform Miss Anthony remarked, peacefully:
``These people have always claimed that I am ir- r eligious. They will not accept the fact that I am a Quaker--or, rather, they seem to think a Quaker is an infidel. I am glad you are a Methodist, for now they cannot claim that we are not orthodox.''
She was still enveloped in the comfort of this re- f lection when she introduced me to our audience, and to impress my qualifications upon my hearers she made her introduction in these words:
``It is a pleasure to introduce Miss Shaw, who is a Methodist minister. And she is not only ortho- d ox of the orthodox, but she is also my right bower!''
There was a gasp from the pious audience, and then a roar of laughter from irreverent men, in which, I must confess, I light-heartedly joined. For once in her life Miss Anthony lost her presence of mind; she did not know how to meet the situation, for she had no idea what had caused the laughter.
It bubbled forth again and again during the eve- n ing, and each time Miss Anthony received the dem- o nstration with the same air of puzzled surprise.
When we had returned to our hotel rooms I explained the matter to her. I do not remember now where I had acquired my own sinful knowledge, but that night I faced ``Aunt Susan'' from the pedestal of a sophisticated worldling.
``Don't you know what a right bower is?'' I de- m anded, sternly.
``Of course I do,'' insisted ``Aunt Susan.'' ``It's a right-hand man--the kind one can't do without.''
``It is a card,'' I told her, firmly--``a leading card in a game called euchre.''
``Aunt Susan'' was dazed. ``I didn't know it had anything to do with cards,'' she mused, mournfully.
``What must they think of me?''
