“It must have left a large proportion of unmarried women.”
“It did, at first. And that very thing was of great value to the world. They were wise, conscientious, strong women, you see, and they poured all their tremendous force into social service. Lots of them went into child culture — used their mother-power that way. It wasn’t easy for them; it wasn’t easy for the left-over men, either!”
“It must have increased prostitution to an awful extent,” I said.
Owen shook his head and regarded me quizzically.
“That is the worst of it,” he said. “There isn’t any.”
I sat up. I stood up. I walked up and down. “No prostitution! I— I can’t believe it. Why, prostitution is a social necessity, as old as Nineveh!”.
Owen laughed outright. “Too late, old man; too late! I know we used to think so. We did use to call it a ‘social necessity,’ didn’t we? Come, now, tell me what necessity it was to the women?”
I stopped my march and looked at him.
“To the women,” he repeated. “What did they want of prostitution? What good did it do them?”
“Why — why — they made a living at it,” I replied, rather lamely.
“Yes, a nice, honorable, pleasant, healthy living, didn’t they? With all women perfectly well able to earn an excellent living decently; with all women fully educated about these matters and knowing what a horrible death was before them in this business; with all women brought up like human beings and not like over-sexed female animals, and with all women quite free to marry if they wished to — how many, do you think, would choose that kind of business?
“We never waited for them to choose it, remember! We fooled them and lied to them and dragged them in — and drove them in — forced them in — and kept them as slaves and prisoners. They didn’t really enjoy the life; you know that. Why should they go into it if they do not have to — to accommodate us?”
“Do you mean to tell me there are no — wantons — among women?” I demanded.
“No, I don’t mean any such thing. There are various kinds of over-developed and morbidly developed women as there are men, and we haven’t weeded them out entirely. But the whole thing is now recognized as pathological — cases for medical treatment, or perhaps surgical. Besides, wantonness is not prostitution. Prostitution is a social crime of the worst order. No one thing did more harm. The women stamped it out.” m
“Legislated us all into morality, did they?” I inquired sarcastically.
“Legislation did a good deal; education did more; the new religion did most; social opinion helped. You remember we men never really tried to legislate against prostitution — we wanted it to go on.”
“Why, surely we did legislate against it — and it was of no use!” I protested.
“No; we legislated against the women, but not against the men, or the thing itself. We examined the women, and fined them, and licensed them — and never did anything against the men. Women legislators used very different measures, I assure you.”
“I suppose it is for the good of the world,” I presently admitted; “but ”
“But you don’t quite like to think of men in this new and peculiar position of having to be good!”
“Frankly — I don’t. I’m willing to be good, but — I don’t like to be given no choice.”
“Well, now, look at it. As it was, we had one way, according to what we thought was good for us. Rather than lead clean, contented lives at some expense to ourselves in the way of moral and physical control, we deliberately sacrificed an army of women to a horrible life and a more horrible death, and corrupted the blood of the nation. It was on the line of health they made their stand, not on ‘morality’ alone. Under our new laws it is held a crime to poison another human being with syphilis, just as much as to use prussic acid.”
“Nellie said you had no crime now.” “Oh, well, Nellie is an optimist. I suppose she meant the old kinds and definitions. We don’t call things ‘crimes’ any more. And then, really, there is not a hundredth part of the evil done that there used to be. We know more, you see, and have less temptation.”
We were silent for a while. I watched a gull float and wheel over the blue water. Big airships flew steadily along certain lines. Little ones sailed about on all sides.
One darted over our heads and lit with a soft swoop on an open promontory.
“Didn’t they use to buzz?” I asked Owen, “Of course; just as the first motor boats thumped and banged abominably. We will not stand for unnecessary noise, as we used to.”
“How do you stop it? More interference with the individual rights?”
“More recognition of public rights. A bad noise is a nuisance, like a bad smell. We didn’t used to mind it much — but the women did. You see, what women like has to be considered now.”
“It always was considered!” I broke in with some heat. “The women of America were the most spoiled, pampered lot on earth; men gave up to them in all ways.”
“At home, perhaps, but not in public. The city and state weren’t run to suit them at all.”
“Why should they be? Women belong at home. If they push into a man’s world they ought to take the consequences.”
Owen stretched his long legs and looked up at the soft, brilliant blue above us.
“Why do you call the world “man’s?” he asked.
“It was man’s; it ought to be. Woman’s place is in the home. I suppose I sound like ancient history to you?” and I laughed a little shamefacedly.
“We have rather lost that point of view,”
Owen guardedly admitted. “You see ” and then he laughed. “It’s no use, John; no matter how we put it to you it’s a jar. The world’s thought has changed — and you have got to catch up!”
“Suppose I refuse? Suppose I really am unable?”
“We won’t suppose it for a moment,” he said cheerfully. “Ideas are not nailed down. Just take out what you had and insert some new ones. Women are people — just as much as we are; that’s a fact, my dear fellow. You’ll have to accept it.”
“And are men allowed to be people, too?” I asked gloomily.
“Why, of course! Nothing has interfered with our position as human beings; it is only our sex supremacy that we have lost.”
“And do you like it?” I demanded.
“Some men made a good deal of fuss at first — the old-fashioned kind, and all the worst varieties. But modern men aren’t worried in the least over their position. ., .
See here, John, you don’t grasp this — women are vastly more agreeable than they used to be.”
I looked at him in amazement.
“Fact!” he said. “Of course, we loved our own mothers and daughters and sisters, more or less, no matter how they looked or what they did; and when we were ‘in love’ there was no limit to the glory of ‘the beloved object.’ But you and I know that women were pretty unsatisfactory in the old days.”
I refused to admit it, but he went on calmly.
“The ‘wife and mother’ was generally a tired, nervous, overworked creature. She soon lost her beauty and vigor, her charm and inspiration. We were forever chasing fine, handsome, highly desirable young girls, and forever reducing them to weary;