“Excuse me for a moment, madam,” said the colonel.  “Really, the Legislature can do nothing to improve the matter.  It cannot regulate the proportion of the sexes by law.”

“I know it,” replied Miss Mooney.  “That is not what I am coming at.  I say that this condition of affairs is grossly unjust.  If I had had the management of it, and had been compelled to arrange that there should be more women than men, I certainly should not have had any fractions.  There are not only two women for every man, but an eighth of a woman besides, so that ever so many of us women would each belong to eight different men if a fair distribution were made.  How do I know, for instance, that an eighth of me does not belong to you?  Why, I don’t know it; and I say it’s awful.”

“If such is the case, madam,” said the colonel, “I surrender all my rights without waiting for a legislative enactment.”

“Excuse me,” replied Miss Mooney, “but you do not catch the drift of my remarks.  Of course, while the laws against bigamy are in existence, some of those women can never be married, although for my part, when a man has two wives and an eighth of another wife, I call it polygamy.  Well, now, the point I want to make is this:  When more than half of us can’t marry, it’s only right that the other half should have a fair chance.  There are not men enough to go round, any how, and for gracious’ sake let’s make them go as far as they honestly will.  Well, then, how’ll we do it?  How’ll we make an equitable distribution of those men?”

“Hanged if I know, madam.  The Legislature daren’t meddle with them.”

“I’ll tell you how to do it.  Listen to me.  Shut down on the widows.  You hear me!  Suppress the widows.  Make it death for any widow to marry again.  That’s my remedy; and there’ll never be any justice till it’s the law.  Just look at it!  When a woman has been married once, she’s had more than her share of the male population; she’s had her own share and the share of another woman and an eighth.  Is it right, is it honorable, for that woman to go and marry another man, and take the share of two more women and an eighth?  I say, is it just the thing?”

“Well, on the surface it does look a little crooked.”

“Crooked is not the word.  Colonel Coffin, I know these widows.  I have had my eye on them.  They’ve got a way of bursting into a man’s feelings and walking off with his affections that fills a modest woman like me with gall and bitterness.  You know Mrs. Banger?  No?  Well, now, look at her, f’r instance.  First she married Mr. Smyth, although what on earth he ever saw to admire about her I cannot imagine.  That was her allowance.  Having obtained Smyth, oughtn’t she to have stood back and given some other woman a chance—­now, oughtn’t she?”

“Really, madam, I am hardly able to express an opinion.”

“But no.  After a while Smyth succumbed.  He died.  She entombed him, crying, mind you, all the time, as if, having lost Smyth, she wanted to die and join Smyth in the grave and in Paradise.  But no sooner was he well settled than she began to flirt with Mr. Smith, and what does he do but yield to her blandishments and marry her?  Took her, and seemed to glory in it.