“Very probably. Is that an answer? What I’d never do would be to make a show, an entertainment, a circus, out of it, run excursion trains to see it--come, should you like your sister to buy tickets for a lynching?” This brought him up rather short. “I should never take part myself,” he presently stated, “unless it were immediate personal vengeance.” “Few brothers or husbands would blame you,” I returned. “It would be hard to wait for the law. But let no community which treats it as a public spectacle presume to call itself civilized.” He gave a perplexed smile, shaking his head over it. “Sometimes I think civilization costs--” “Civilization costs all you’ve got!” I cried. “More than I’ve got!” he declared. “I’m mortal tired of civilization.” “Ah, yes! What male creature is not? And neither of us will live quite long enough to see the smash-up of our own.” “Aren’t you sometimes inconsistent?” he inquired, laughing. “I hope so,” I returned. “Consistency is a form of death. The dead are the only perfectly consistent people.” “And sometimes you sound like a Socialist,” he pursued, still laughing. “Never!” I shouted. “Don’t class me with those untrained puppies of thought. And you’ll generally observe,” I added, “that the more nobly a Socialist vaporizes about the rights of humanity, the more wives and children he has abandoned penniless along the trail of his life.” He was livelier than ever at this. “What date have you fixed for the smash-up of our present civilization?” “Why fix dates? Is it not diversion enough to watch, and step handsomely through one’s own part, with always a good sleeve to laugh in?” Pensiveness returned upon him. “I shall be able to step through my own part, I think.” He paused, and I was wondering secretly, “Does that include the wedding?” when he continued: “What’s there to laugh at?”