In the company of my two Amazon guides, I passed through the buzzing crowd to a sort of official Black Maria which in this case was nothing more or less than an aerial taxi. On our journey I attempted to extract some information of my destination and probable length of stay. Despite the usual bureaucratic lack of information, I did gather that the Club to which I was being taken was a junior organization where the young males on their first introduction into society were segregated and carefully instructed in the arts and graces of conduct. My first uneasiness gave place to a growing curiosity. Knowing that crimes of violence were outlawed I ceased to fear my reception among my own sex, confident that in a short contact I could dissipate the first unfavorable impression. I had not, in fact, any carefully matured plan but I was determined now that the opportunity had presented itself, to awake in my decadent and helpless brothers a sentiment of the glory that had been stripped from them. I set it down to my credit that, strong as was the fascination that Dianne exercised over me, the feeling of sex solidarity in me was so imperious that I was determined to stop before neither threats nor reprisals. We alighted before a massive iron gate, fully forty feet in height, that broke the grim monotony of the towering walls. Evidently apprised of my intended arrival, a venerable proctor (in appearance sixty years of age though undoubtedly much older) was waiting to greet me. Once beyond the walls we entered a little two-seated scooter which traversed the grounds with astonishing lightness and speed and arrived at the home of my Nestorian companion, who evidently was a sort of super head master. “It is better for you to pass the first night under my roof,” he said when we had alighted, “until the feeling against you shall have abated somewhat.” “Really? I should think that the only sentiment would be curiosity. How have I offended?” “This year’s debutants are a vain and silly lot and they have been made unruly by this talk of social equality that is in the air.” “Then I gather you do not believe in male suffrage,” I said, gazing at him in surprise. “This is a woman’s world,” he said shrugging his shoulders. “Man’s place is in the Club.” I broke out laughing with the same result. Men too in this advanced age were totally deprived of humor. Suddenly I stopped struck by an inspiration. To begin the revolt of the males, I must teach them to laugh! The young debutants began to return in a state of great excitement. Within half an hour, there were fully two hundred gathered in a clamoring group outside. What they wanted was, of course, a view of me. Nestor, with a caution to remain within, stepped outside the door and was addressing the ring leaders in a peremptory tone, when, moved by an impulse of disdain for these effeminate slender striplings, I sprang out boldly, and raising my hand aloft in the best oratorical manner cried: