"Cud a lady do that, I ask ye? No, sir, 'tis no job f'r th' fair. It's
men's wurruk. Molly Donahue wants a vote, but though she cud bound
Kamachatka as aisily as ye cud this precint, she ain't qualified f'r it.
It's meant f'r gr-reat sturdy American pathrites like Mulkowsky th'
Pollacky down th' sthreet. He don't know yet that he ain't votin' f'r
th' King iv Poland. He thinks he's still over there pretindin' to be a
horse instead iv a free American givin' an imytation iv a steam dhredge.
"On th' first Choosday afther th' first Monday in November an' April a
man goes ar-round to his house, wakes him up, leads him down th'
sthreet, an' votes him th' way ye'd wather a horse. He don't mind
inhalin' th' air iv liberty in a livery stable. But if Molly Donahue
wint to vote in a livery stable, th' first thing she'd do wud be to get
a broom, sweep up th' flure, open th' windows, disinfect th' booths,
take th' harness fr'm th' walls, an' hang up a pitcher iv Niagary be
moonlight, chase out th' watchers an' polis, remove th' seegars, make
th' judges get a shave, an' p'raps invalydate th' iliction. It's no job
f'r her, an' I told her so.
"'We demand a vote,' says she. 'All right,' says I, 'take mine. It's
old, but it's trustworthy an' durable.
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