Misogyny's Last Bow

It was upon the eleventh of January, I recall, that I found myself waiting the arrival of the noon plane. My companion had that weekend deserted me for New York and the BSI Dinner-the only such action which I can recall in our association. I had agreed to meet him here upon his return.

My wait was not in vain. It was not, however, until we were both safely ensconced in a hansom cab rattling away from the airport that Phillimore was able to begin relating his adventures.

When he had finished his report, I sat for some minutes in silence. At last, he could stand it no longer. "Well, Agatha? Have you nothing to say?"

I carefully knocked the ashes out of my pipe (which I carry for precisely that purpose) before replying. "It's true that you have given a most colorful account of this event," I said. "And yet you have overlooked almost everything of importance."

My companion could not help but take offense at the curtness of my reaction. "I suppose you could have done better?" he asked reproachfully.

"You see, Phillimore, but you do not observe. You tell me, for example, that most of the portions served at this banquet were pitiably small. So far you go and no farther. I, however, am able to infer from this simple fact that the membership cares less for food than for drink."

"You astound me, Agatha."

"Elementary, I assure you. I might also comment on another characteristic of the group as a whole."

"And what might that be?"

"It is a matter of their intelligence," I said-not, I fancy, without a twinkle in my eye-"or, rather, its shocking limitations."

"I suppose you observed the circumference of the deerstalker hats in the photographs I brought and calculated--"

"That would have been one possible method, though a crude one. But it is not mere cubic capacity to which I refer."

"Then it is that certain parties tried to seat twenty people at a table meant for no more than ten?"

"A keen observation, my dear Phillimore. But any gathering of this size is bound to include a few of the criminal element. No, it is simply a question of short sightedness."

"I'm afraid I don't follow you."

"Surely you noticed it yourself. Any group that overlooks at least half of its potential members solely on the basis of gender must be mentally dull indeed."

My companion appeared embittered by my words. "This is unworthy of you, Agatha. You would judge all those present at the occasion -- and others not present --based on the attitudes of a few. I myself heartily agree with you on this point. I know I speak for others as well."

"Good old Phillimore! I have done you an injustice, my friend. Of course you are right. My sincerest apologies."

The cab had pulled up to the curb at our destination. As we alighted, I thrust a hand into my pocket and found a shilling. I tossed it up to the driver.

Turning away from-the departing cab, my companion paused a moment to gaze at the snow-covered scene. A few flakes still hovered in the chill air, and the sky was gray and gloomy. He shook his head thoughtfully.

"There's an east wind coming, Agatha," he said. "Perhaps not next year, or the year after, but it will come all the same. It may sweep out a good many in its path, but a better, cleaner, fairer society will stand in its wake ... Come, it's time that we were on our way. I have a bag full of books which should be delivered to the Lascar early, for he is quite capable of reading them all in one night if given the opportunity."

(Printed in Plugs & Dottles, February 1987)