ss," said Vergil Gunch.

"Yes, that's so. But the trouble is the manner of enforcement," insisted
Howard Littlefield. "Congress didn't understand the right system. Now,
if I'd been running the thing, I'd have arranged it so that the drinker
himself was licensed, and then we could have taken care of the shiftless
workman--kept him from drinking--and yet not 've interfered with the
rights--with the personal liberty--of fellows like ourselves."

They bobbed their heads, looked admiringly at one another, and stated,
"That's so, that would be the stunt."

"The thing that worries me is that a lot of these guys will take to
cocaine," sighed Eddie Swanson.

They bobbed more violently, and groaned, "That's so, there is a danger
of that."

Chum Frink chanted, "Oh, say, I got hold of a swell new receipt for
home-made beer the other day. You take--"

Gunch interrupted, "Wait! Let me tell you mine!" Littlefield snorted,
"Beer! Rats! Thing to do is to ferment cider!" Jones insisted, "I've
got the receipt that does the business!" Swanson begged, "Oh, say, lemme
tell you the story--" But Frink went on resolutely, "You take and save
the shells from peas, and pour six gallons of water on a bushel of
shells and boil the mixture till--"

Mrs. Babbitt turned toward them with yearning sweetness; Frink hastened
to finish even his best beer-recipe; and she said gaily, "Dinner is
served."

There was a good deal of friendly argument among the men as to which
should go in last, and while they were crossing the hall from the
living-room to the dining-room Vergil Gunch made them laugh by
thundering, "If I can't sit next to Myra Babbitt and hold her hand under
the table, I won't play--I'm goin' home." In the dining-room they stood
embarrassed while Mrs. Babbitt fluttered, "Now, let me see--Oh, I was
going to have some nice hand-painted place-cards for you but--Oh, let me
see; Mr. Frink, you sit there."

The dinner was in the best style of women's-magazine art, whereby the
salad was served in hollowed apples, and everything but the invincible
fried chicken resembled something else. Ordinarily the men found it hard
to talk to the women; flirtation was an art unknown on Floral Heights,
and the realms of offices and of kitchens had no alliances. But under
the inspiration of the cocktails, conversation was violent. Each of the
men still had a number of important things to say about prohibition, and
now that each had a loyal listener in his din