“Do you suppose your old ladies and gentlemen think so?”
“I suppose you never will get through laughing at that. They really are a good joke. But we have a certain amount of fun out of them after all. I’m not like those women who only care for the games they can win at. I’m satisfied to squeeze a little chuckle out of circumstances. I don’t expect too much. Take matrimony. Some women think it is a poor game simply because they haven’t been able to win at it. And it is the same even with religion. The other night our bishop was telling me about the diminishing congregations. I told him that the church people were not keeping pace with the spirit of the time. ‘The trouble with you, Bishop,’ I said, ‘is that you don’t advertise. Look at Talmage.’ ‘My dear,’ he said, ‘we do advertise somewhat, and we have one bargain day every week. We call it Sunday. But people are becoming dreadfully exacting. And our stock is very old.’ You can get a good deal of comfort out of the church if you look at it as Renan did—as an institution for keeping other people quiet.”
“And yet,” I ventured to say, “there are folks who think that you young women should go to church more than you do.”
“Oh, I do go to church. But I don’t take it seriously. I’m afraid I only glance at the bargains and go out at the other door.”
“I dare say that you wouldn’t accept heaven unless there is an elevator, a writing-room and an orchestrion.”
“Do you know, I fancy a good many of us think of the church as Mrs. Stellmore feels about her husband. Probably you don’t know Mrs. Stellmore. She is the second wife of one of our wealthiest brokers. The other night she walked up to him right before us all, and putting her hands on his shoulders said, ‘Oh, Tom! if you weren’t so good I couldn’t be so wicked.’”
“I am going to ask as the foreigner who is writing us up so often asks: Is this typical? Are many of your husbands, so to speak, so good as Mr. Stellmore?”