polls by manipulation of the traffic. No sheriff could enrich himself by
selling privileges. No city could govern itself in that
respect--declaring that public opinion favored the saloons and making
local law superior to the constitutional law of the State. The bill
provided that a judge must impose both fines and imprisonment when
convictions were secured, and, therefore, no judge could carry on any
longer a practical system of low license by imposing fines alone.

It was the principle of _enforced_ prohibition put on trial.

In the past the Luke Pressons of the State had laughed at interference
by a Governor. Local politics, easily handled, had controlled the
actions of cities, and police had kept their hands off the traffic for
years.

Authority in liquor matters had been vested in the county high sheriffs,
and these men were controlled from State headquarters wholly in the
interests of politics.

Harlan was sufficiently familiar with the old plan to know how this new
system would upset the entire political machine of his State. That folio
of document was a bombshell.

He was holding it outspread in his hands when the door opened so
suddenly that it startled him. Thelismer Thornton came in, shaking his
shoulders disgustedly.

"Feathers and cackle!" he muttered. "This State House turned into a
poultry yard! And half of 'em braced back trying to crow! When a hen
crows and a woman votes--well, it's all the same thing!"

He relighted the cigar that he had brought through the press hidden in
his big palm. He eyed his grandson keenly and with some disfavor as he
puffed the cigar alight.

"Look here, bub," he burst out, "there are enough women around here
to-day to remind me that I want to have a word with you on the woman
question. You intend to marry Madeleine Presson, don't you?"

"_Intend_ to marry her!" blazed his grandson. "You talk as though it was
the fashion to grab a girl and carry her off as they did in the Stone
Age."

"You know what I mean very well, sir. I take it you are still decent,
and if you're decent you'll marry the girl you've beaued around for six
months--providing she'll have you. That was the style in my day--and
decency doesn't change much--at least, it ought not to."

Had it been the day before, Harlan Thornton would have declared to his
grandfather what his intentions were toward Madeleine Presson. The
thoughts of the past night's vigil came upon him now--he hesitated. He
was angry