"Yes, he can; but it costs too much. Men like tobacco, but they like love better, old man."
"Is it one of your legal requirements for marriage?"
"No, not legal; but women disapprove of tobacco-y lovers, husbands, fathers; they know that the excessive use of it is injurious, and won't marry a heavy smoker. But the main point is that they simply don't like the smell of the stuff, or of the man who uses it—most women, that is."
"But what difference does it make? I dare say that most women did not like it before, but surely a man has a right——"
"To make himself a disgusting object to his wife," Owen interrupted. "Yes, he has a 'right' to. We would have a right to bang on a tin pan, I suppose—or to burn rubber, but he wouldn't be popular!"
"It's tyranny!" I protested.
"Not at all," he said, imperturbably. "We had no idea what a nuisance we used to be, that's all; or how much women put up with that they did not like at all. I asked a woman once—when I was a bachelor—why she objected to tobacco, and she frankly replied that a man who did not smoke was much pleasanter to kiss! She was a very fascinating little widow—I confess it made me think."
"It's the same with liquor, I suppose? Let's get it all told."
"Yes, only more so. Alcoholism was a race evil of the worst sort. I cannot imagine how we put up with it so long."
"Is this spotless world of yours one solid temperance union?"