"I don't know what we're coming to," she mourned.

"Anarchy!" was her husband's prompt answer, as he mounted again on his
favorite hobby. "Once women begin to believe that they have
intelligence, anarchy will be the natural, the inevitable result. God
never made them to think." In his excitement, he had forgotten the
manner in which he had already once offended his wife.

"Then, why did God give women brains?" Cicily demanded.

"I can't waste my time in arguing with a woman," Delancy answered
loftily, and, turning away, tugged superciliously at a wisp of whisker.

"That's it! Oh, yes, that's it!" Cicily exclaimed, with rising
indignation. Her embarrassment had passed, but a flush remained in her
cheeks, and her radiant eyes were alight with the battle-lust. "You
think women haven't any intelligence. You can't waste your time arguing
with them! Very well, then, I tell you that it's you who haven't the
intelligence to recognize a new point of view--a new force in the world;
the force of women's brains--until it shall hit you in the face. That's
why I'm holding out against Charles, fighting him, to save him, to keep
him from growing into a narrow-minded, hard-headed, ignorant old
fossil!" The application of this explicit description was not far to
seek. It was evident that Delancy took it to himself, for he, in his
turn at last, colored rosily. But he did not choose to accept a personal
reference, and contented himself with a bit of repartee:

"Huh, no fear! He won't live to be a fossil. His troubles will kill him
off early, or I lose my guess.... So, that's your excuse for ruining
him, is it?"

"I'd help him, if he'd let me," Cicily answered, sadly, forgetful of her
indignation against the sex.

"You help him!" Delancy exclaimed, mockingly. "Why, you brought on the
strike."

"But--" Cicily would have protested, only to be interrupted by the
indignant old gentleman, who shook an accusing forefinger at her.

"You can't tell me! Yes, you did, with your impertinent interference.
Huh! When women get to fooling with business, we shall all go to the
dogs. Why, if it hadn't been for you and for what you did with your
precious 'helping,' Charles would have had a chance to make good money.
Now, Morton and Carrington are charging the independent dealers
twenty-two cents a box. But for this strike, Charles might have induced
those old pirates to raise their price to him a little, and let him
make some money.... Help him-