But usually it is the forced
marches, with the enemy ever retreating over its own ground. And in
this position of women, it is the army of Nature that has begun to
move. Not the mere rising of a rebellious faction, but the entire
unconquerable force of humanity whose whole existence is threatened
by the invading power of population.
And Sally Bishop--frail, tender-hearted, sensitive Sally
Bishop--has donned the bandolier and the haversack and is off with
the rest, just one unit in the rank and file, one slender individual
in Nature's army that is out on a campaign to effect the inevitable
change in the social conditions of the sex. It makes no matter that
she will never reap the benefit; it counts not at all that she will
never touch the spoil. The lines must be filled up. When she falls,
there must be others to take her place. The bugle has sounded in the
hearts of thousands of women of her type, and they have had to obey
its shrilling call.
Stand for half an hour in the morning at any of the main termini of
London's traffic-ways, and you will see them in their thousands. They
little know the law they are obeying; they little realize the cause
for which they are working, or the effect it will produce.
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