"But the men, Mrs. Pedagog," said the Idiot, "did you ever think of them?"
"What else did we think of? What else is there for a woman to think about?" replied Mrs. Pedagog.
"Jane!" cried Mr. Pedagog.
"Pleasantry, my dear—mere pleasantry," returned Mrs. Pedagog, frigidly. And Mr. Pedagog lit a cigar. It is not always pleasant to be quoted.
"Still," said the Idiot, "you thought of men only as creatures of the moment—"
"Entirely," said Mrs. Pedagog.
"And not as creatures of the week following," said the Idiot.
"What has that to do with it?" asked Mrs. Pedagog.
"Much—from the man's stand-point," returned the Idiot. "His digestion was butchered to make a woman's holiday. Take myself as an example. I used to make New-Year's calls; and to get through with my list by midnight, I had to start in at nine o'clock in the morning."
"Nine o'clock is not so early," said Mr. Whitechoker.