ain and Sickle Streets. He
opened the Sunlight Bar and for one whole day and night revelled in the
conviction that he had found a silver mine. The male population of
Tinkletown, augmented by a swarm of would-be inebriates from all the
farms within a radius of ten miles, flocked to the Sunlight Bar and
proceeded to get gloriously and collectively drunk on the contents of
the two kegs of lager beer that constituted an experimental stock in
trade.

The next morning the women of Tinkletown started in to put the Sunlight
Bar out of business. They did not, as you may suspect, hurl stones at
the place, neither did they feloniously enter and wreak destruction with
axes, hatchets and hoe-handles. Not a bit of it. They were peaceful,
law-abiding women, not sanguinary amazons. What they did was perfectly
simple.

It is possible, even probable, that they were the pioneer "pickets" of
our benighted land. At any rate, bright and early on the second day of
the Sunlight Bar, the ladies of Tinkletown brought their knitting and
their sewing down to the corner of Main and Sickle streets and sat
themselves down in front of the shrinking "silver mine." They came with
rocking-chairs, and camp-chairs, and milk-stools, and benches, too, and
instead of chanting a doleful lay, they chattered in a blithe and merry
fashion. There was no going behind the fact, however, that these
smiling, complacent women formed the Death Watch that was to witness the
swift, inevitable finish of the Sunlight Bar.

[Illustration: _These smiling, complacent women formed the Death Watch
that was to witness the swift, inevitable finish of the Sunlight Bar_]

They came in relays, and they stayed until the lights went out in the
desolate house of cheer. The next day they were on hand again, and the
next, and still the next. Fortunately for them, but most unluckily for
the proprietor of the Sunlight Bar, the month was August: they could
freeze him out, but he couldn't freeze them out.

Sheepish husbands and sons passed them by, usually on the opposite
sidewalk, but not one of them had the hardihood to extend a helping hand
to the expiring saloon. At the end of a week, the Sunlight Bar drew its
last breath. It died of starvation. The only mourner at its bier was the
bewildered saloon-keeper, who engaged a dray to haul the remains to
Boggs City, the County seat, and it was he who said, as far back as
1870, that he was in favour of taking the vote away from the men and