You see, he went on, as men used to went on, to females years ago. He forgot that that Alonzo and Melissa style of talkin' to wimmen had almost entirely gone out of fashion. And it was a good deal more stylish now to talk to wimmen as if they wuz human bein's, and men wuz too. But Cicely looked at him calm and earnest, and says,-- “Will you do as I wish you to in this matter?” “Well, really, my dear madam, I don't quite get at your meaning.” “Will you let this store remain as it is, and rent those other saloons to honest business men for some other purpose than drinking-saloons?” “O my dear, dear madam! What can you be thinking of? The rent that I get from those four buildings is equal in amount to any eight of the other buildings of the same size. I cannot, I cannot, consent to make any changes whatever.” “You will not, then, do as I wish?” “I _cannot_, my dear madam: I prefer to put it in that way,--I cannot. I do not see as you do in the matter. And as the law empowers me to use my own discretion in renting the buildings, investing money, etc., I shall be obliged to do so.” Cicely got up: she was white as snow now, but as quiet as snow ever wus. Mr. Post got up, too, about the politest actin' man I ever see, a movin' chairs out of the way, and a smilin', and a waitin' on us out. He was ready to give plenty of politeness to Cicely, but no justice. And I guess he was kinder sorry to see how white and sad she looked, for he spoke out in a sort of a comfortin' voice,-- “You have had great sorrows, Mrs. Slide, but you have also a great deal to comfort you. Just think of how many other widows have been left in poverty, or, as you may say, penury, and you are rich.” Cicely turned then, and made the longest speech I ever heard her make. [Illustration: LICENSED WRETCHEDNESS.] “Yes, many a drunkard's wife is clothed in rags, and goes hungry to bed at night, with her hungry children crying for bread about her. She can lie on her cold pile of rags, with the snow sifting down on her, and think that her husband, a sober, honest man once, was made a low, brutal wretch by intemperance; that he drank up all his property, killed himself by strong drink, was buried in a pauper's grave, and left a starving wife and children, to live if they could. The cold of winter freezes her, the want of food makes her faint, and to see her little ones starving about her makes her heart ache, no doubt. I have plenty of money, fine clothes, dainty food, diamonds on my fingers.” Says she, stretching out her little white hands, and smilin' the bitterest smile I ever see on Cicely's face,--