Chapter VI: Act I: SCENE 1.--Scugog

_The breakfast-room in the house of_ BLOGGS, _a wealthy Scugog merchant. At the table_, KATE, _his daughter, reading a letter_.

_Kate (in much indignation)_. Refused! I knew it! The crass ingratitude of haughty man, Vested in all the pride of place and power, Brooks not the aspirations of my sex, However just. Is't that he fears to yield, Lest from his laurelled brow the wreath should fall And light on ours? We may matriculate, And graduate--if we can, but he excludes Us from the beaten path he takes himself. The sun-lit heights of steep Parnassus Reach past the clouds, and we below must stay; Not that our alpen-stocks are weak, or that Our breath comes short, but that, forsooth, we wear The Petticoat. Out on such trash!

_Enter_ MR. BLOGGS.

_Mr. Bloggs_. Why, what's the matter, Kate?

_Kate_. Not much, papa, only I am refused Admission to the college. _Sapient_ says The Council have considered my request, And find it inconsistent with the rules Of discipline and order to admit Women within their walls.

_Mr. B_. I thought they'd say so. Now be satisfied; You've studied hard. Have made your mark upon The honour list. Have passed your second year. Let that suffice. You know enough to wed, And Gilmour there would give his very head To have you. Get married, Kate.

_Kate_. Papa, you vex me; Gilmour has no chance And that I'll let him know. Nor have I spent My youth in studious sort to give up now.

_Mr. Bloggs_. What will you do? They will not let you in, For fear you'd turn the heads of all the boys. And quite right, too. I wouldn't have the care And worry of a lot of lively girls For all I'm worth.

[_He kisses her_.

_Kate_. P'raps not, papa. But yet I mean to have The prize I emulate. If I obtain The honours hung so tantalizingly Before us by the University, Will you defray the cost, as hitherto You've done, like my own kind papa?

[_She kisses him_.

_Mr. Bloggs_. I guess I'll have to: they won't send the bills to you.

_Kate_. Ah, dear papa! I'll make you proud of me
As if I were a son.

_Enter_ MRS. BLOGGS. _Exit_ MR. BLOGGS.

_Mrs. Bloggs_. My dearest Kate,
How very late
You keep the breakfast things!

_Kate_. My dear mamma,
I had papa
To tell of lots of things.

_Mrs. Bloggs_. Your secret, pray,
If so I may
Be let into it also.

_Kate_. Oh, it was just this letter, mamma, from Mr. Sapient, telling me that the Council won't let me go to University College to share the education that can only be had there at a reasonable cost, because the young men would be demoralized by my presence.

_Mrs. Bloggs_. Kate, I am astonished at you! Have I not always said that women do not need so much education as men, and ought to keep themselves _to_ themselves, and not put themselves forward like impudent minxes? What'll men think of you if you go sittin' down on the same benches at the colleges, and studyin' off of the same desk, and, like enough--for there are girls bold enough for that--out of the same books? And what must the professors think women are comin' to when they want to learn mathyphysics and metamatics and classical history, and such stuff as unfits a woman for her place, and makes her as ignorant of household work, managin' servants, bringin' up children, and such like, as the greenhorns that some people take from the emigrant sheds, though I wouldn't be bothered with such ignoramuses, spoilin' the knives, and burnin' the bread, for anythin'?

_Kate_. Now, mamma, you know we have gone all over this before, and shall never agree, because I think that the better educated a woman is, the better she can fulfil her home duties, especially in the care and management of the health of her family, and the proper training of her sons and daughters as good citizens.

_Mrs. Bloggs_. You put me out of all patience, Kate! For goodness' sake get married and be done with it. And that reminds me that Harry Gilmour wants you to go to the picnic with him on Dominion Day, and to the concert at the Gardens at night; and he said you had snubbed him so at Mrs. Gale's that he didn't like to speak about it to you without I thought he might. Now, that's what I call a real shame, the way you do treat that young man. A risin' young lawyer as he is, with no end of lots in Winnipeg, and all the money his father made for him up there; comes of a good old family, and has the best connections; as may be a member yet, perhaps senator some day, and you treat him as if he was quite beneath you. I do hope you'll just show a little common sense and accept his invitations.

_Kate_. Well, mamma, I think the real shame, as you call it, is that you, and other ladies, will allow your daughters to go, about to picnics, parties, balls, theatres or anywhere else, with any man who happens to ask them, and without even so much as a girl-companion, and yet you see nothing but impropriety in my desire to attend college, where all the opportunity of associating with the other sex is limited to a few lectures delivered by grave and reverend Professors, under conditions of strict discipline, and at which the whole attention of the students must necessarily be concentrated on the subject. As for unlimited opportunities for flirting, there are none; and the necessities of college life compel each student to attend to his duties while within the halls, and then go home; wherever that may be.

_Mrs. Bloggs_. It's no use talking, Kate, you won't alter my opinion. If they'd build another college specially for ladies, as I hear the Council is willin' to do, and put it under charge of a lady who would look after the girls, I wouldn't object so much, though, as I always say, I don't see the need of so much learnin' for women.

_Kate_. Well, mamma, how much would be gained by a separate building? The Council, it is true, offer a piece of ground, within a few minutes walk of the college, for a ladies' college, and promise to deliver lectures specially "altered to suit the female capacity." But if there was an intention of giddiness and flirtation on the part of the lady students, how much hindrance do you think the separate college would be? And if we can't understand the same lectures as our brothers, it is evident we can't understand the same books. Rather a hard nut to crack, isn't it?

_Mrs. Bloggs_. How rude you are, Kate! I am ashamed of you.

[_Exit_ MRS. BLOGGS _in a rage_.

_Kate_. Poor mamma, she thinks her only child a very _enfant terrible_.

* * * * *

SCENE 2.--_A lady's bedroom_.

KATE BLOGGS _and her cousin_, ORPHEA BLAGGS, _in conversation_.

_Orphea_. What will you do, dear?

_Kate_. A deed without a name! A deed will waken me at dead of night! A deed whose stony face will stare at me With vile grimace, and freeze my curdling blood! Will make me quake before the eye of day; Shrink from the sun; and welcome fearsome night! A deed will chase my trembling steps by ways Unknown, through lonely streets, into dark haunts!-- Will make me tremble if a child observes Me close; and quake, if, in a public crowd, One glances at me twice! A deed I'll blush for, yet I'll do't; and charge Its ugliness on those who forced me to't-- In short, I'll wear the breeks.

_Orphea_. Oh, Katie! You?

_Kate_. Yes, me, dear coz.

_Orphea_. But then your hair, and voice!

_Kate_. I'll train my voice to mouth out short, thick words, As Bosh! Trash! Fudge! Rot! And I'll cultivate An Abernethian, self-assertive style, That men may think there is a deal more in My solid head than e'er comes out. My hair I'll cut short off.

[_She looses down her abundant brown hair, and passes her hands
through it caressingly_.

Ah, woman's simple pride! these tresses brown Must all be shorn. Like to Godiva fair, Whose heart, so true, forgot itself, to serve Her suffering kind; I, too, must make My hair an offering to my sex; a protest strong 'Gainst man's oppression. Oh, wavy locks, that won my father's praise, I must be satisfied to cut ye off, And keep ye in a drawer 'till happier times, When I again may wear ye as a crown: Perchance a bang.

_Orphea_. 'Twould, perhaps, be best to wear some as moustache.

_Kate_. The very thing! then whiskers won't be missed.

_Orphea_. But oh, your mannish garb! How dreadful, Kate!

_Kate_. True; but it must be done, and you must help.

[_Exeunt_.

* * * * *

SCENE 3.--_The same room. Evening_.

KATE _alone_.

_Kate_. Not let me in! We'll see. I'll beat 'em yet. To think that down in Canterbury, girls, Like my poor self, have had the badge bestowed That I so fondly covet. To think that they Enjoy the rights I ask, and have received The Cambridge University degree, B.A. Not only wear the gown and cap As college students, but the hood. The hood! And shall Macaulay's proud New Zealander Thus sit on me? Not if I know it. No! I'll don the dreadful clothes, and cheat the Dons.

[_She goes to the window_.

The blinds are down, the shutters closed, the slats As well, surely no one can see.

[_She takes up a man's coat and looks at it, then the vest,
then the pants_.

I'll do't!

[_Invests herself in the masculine apparel. A knock at the door.
She starts and turns pale_.

_A Voice_. Katie, dear!

_Kate_. Pshaw! 'tis only Orphea!

[_She unlocks the door_.

(_In masculine tones_.) Come in, dear coz.

[_Attempts to kiss her, but receives a slap in the face_.

_Orphea_. How dare you, sir! Oh! let me out.

_Kate (in natural voice)_. Orphea, you goose!

_Orphea_ Oh, Kate, you did so scare me!

_Kate_. And is it then a good disguise?

_Orphea_. 'Tis poor old Tom again.

_Kate_. But how essay it in the street and hall?

_Orphea_. Well, there's the gown to help. 'Twill cover all.

_Kate_. And then the cap? But that I do not mind; My Derby hat has used me to a style A trifle jaunty, and a hard stiff crown; So if my hair prove not too trying I yet may like to wear the "mortar-board," If still they wear such things.

_Orphea_. Oh, Kate, it is an awful risk!

_Kate_. Awful, my dear; but poor mamma Thinks I'm an awful girl. If she but knew-- Yet might I plead that men and women oft Have done the same before; poor Joan of Arc; Portia; and Rosalind. And I have heard That once Achilles donned the woman's garb: Then why not I the student's cap and gown?