nd often he joins in with them--opera,
dances, lectures; she ought to do the same, and join in with him in his
pleasures, and after a while they'll get upon a common basis, have their
clubs together, and when that happy time comes, when either one goes out
the other will also go, and their companionship will be perfect."

"But you objected to my calling you old chap when we first met," said I.
"Is that quite consistent?"

"Of course," retorted the lady. "We had never met before, and, besides,
doctors do not always take their own medicine."

"But that women ought to become good fellows is what you're going to
advocate, eh?" said I.

"Yes," replied Xanthippe. "It's excellent, don't you think?"

"Superb," I answered, "for Hades. It's just my idea of how things ought
to be in Hades. I think, however, that we mortals will stick to the old
plan for a little while yet; most of us prefer to marry wives rather
than old chaps."

The remark seemed so to affect my visitor that I suddenly became
conscious of a sense of loneliness.

"I don't wish to offend you," I said, "but I rather like to keep the two
separate. Aren't you man enough yet to see the value of variety?"

But there was no answer. The lady had gone. It was evident that she
considered me unworthy of further attention.

V. THE EDITING OF XANTHIPPE

After my interview with Xanthippe, I hesitated to approach the
type-writer for a week or two. It did a great deal of clicking after the
midnight hour had struck, and I was consumed with curiosity to know what
was going on, but I did not wish to meet Mrs. Socrates again, so I held
aloof until Boswell should have served his sentence. I was no longer
afraid of the woman, but I do fear the good fellow of the weaker sex,
and I deemed it just as well to keep out of any and all disputes that
might arise from a casual conversation with a creature of that sort. An
agreement with a real good fellow, even when it ends in a row, is more
or less diverting; but a disputation with a female good fellow places
a man at a disadvantage. The argumentum ad hominem is not an easy thing
with men, but with women it is impossible. Hence, I let the type-writer
click and ring for a fortnight.

Finally, to my relief, I recognized Boswell's touch upon the keys and
sauntered up to the side of the machine.

"Is this Boswell--Jim Boswell?" I inquired.

"All that's left of him," was the answer. "How have you been?"

"Very well," said I