Part 10 (1/2)

”Yes,” said Mrs. Makely, ”it's astonis.h.i.+ng how strong and well those women keep, with their great families and their hard work. Sometimes I really envy them.”

”Do you suppose,” said the Altrurian, ”that they are aware of the sacrifices which the ladies of the upper cla.s.ses make in leaving all the work to them, and suffering from the nervous debility which seems to be the outcome of your society life?”

”They have not the remotest idea of it. They have no conception of what a society woman goes through with. They think we do nothing. They envy us, too, and sometimes they're so ungrateful and indifferent, if you try to help them, or get on terms with them, that I believe they hate us.”

”But that comes from ignorance?”

”Yes, though I don't know that they are really any more ignorant of us than we are of them. It's the other half on both sides.”

”Isn't that a pity, rather?”

”Of course it's a pity, but what can you do? You can't know what people are like unless you live like them, and then the question is whether the game is worth the candle. I should like to know how you manage in Altruria.”

”Why, we have solved the problem in the only way, as you say, that it can be solved. We all live alike.”

”Isn't that a little, just a very trifling little bit, monotonous?” Mrs.

Makely asked, with a smile. ”But there is everything, of course, in being used to it. To an unregenerate spirit--like mine, for example--it seems intolerable.”

”But why? When you were younger, before you were married, you all lived at home together--or, perhaps, you were an only child?”

”Oh, no indeed! There were ten of us.”

”Then you all lived alike, and shared equally?”

”Yes, but we were a family.”

”We do not conceive of the human race except as a family.”

”Now, excuse me, Mr. h.o.m.os, that is all nonsense. You cannot have the family feeling without love, and it is impossible to love other people.

That talk about the neighbor, and all that, is all well enough--” She stopped herself, as if she dimly remembered who began that talk, and then went on: ”Of course, I accept it as a matter of faith, and the spirit of it, n.o.body denies that; but what I mean is, that you must have frightful quarrels all the time.” She tried to look as if this were where she really meant to bring up, and he took her on the ground she had chosen.

”Yes, we have quarrels. Hadn't you at home?”

”We fought like little cats and dogs, at times.”

Makely and I burst into a laugh at her magnanimous frankness. The Altrurian remained serious. ”But, because you lived alike, you knew each other, and so you easily made up your quarrels. It is quite as simple with us, in our life as a human family.”

This notion of a human family seemed to amuse Mrs. Makely more and more; she laughed and laughed again. ”You must excuse me,” she panted, at last, ”but I cannot imagine it! No, it is too ludicrous. Just fancy the jars of an ordinary family multiplied by the population of a whole continent! Why, you must be in a perpetual squabble. You can't have any peace of your lives. It's worse, far worse, than our way.”

”But, madam,” he began, ”you are supposing our family to be made up of people with all the antagonistic interests of your civilization. As a matter of fact--”

”No, no! _I know human nature_, Mr. h.o.m.os!” She suddenly jumped up and gave him her hand. ”Good-night,” she said, sweetly, and as she drifted off on her husband's arm she looked back at us and nodded in gay triumph.

The Altrurian turned upon me with unabated interest. ”And have you no provision in your system for finally making the lower cla.s.ses understand the sufferings and sacrifices of the upper cla.s.ses in their behalf? Do you expect to do nothing to bring them together in mutual kindness?”

”Well, not this evening,” I said, throwing the end of my cigar away. ”I'm going to bed--aren't you?”

”Not yet.”