giving it exclusively to the women.

Tinkletown, according to the sage observations of Uncle Dad Simms, was
rarely affected by the unsettling problems of the present day. This talk
about "labour unrest" was ridiculous, he said. If the remainder of the
world was anything like Tinkletown, labour didn't do much except rest.
It was getting so that if a workin'-man had very far to walk to "git" to
his job, he had to step along purty lively if he wanted to arrive there
in plenty of time to eat his lunch and start back home again. And as for
"this here prohibition question," he didn't take any stock in it at all.
Tinkletown had got along without liquor for more than a hundred years
and he guessed it could get along for another century or two without
much trouble, especially as it was only ten miles to Boggs City where
you could get all you wanted to drink any day in the week. Besides, he
argued, loudly and most violently, being so deaf that he had to strain
his own throat in order to hear himself, there wasn't anybody in
Tinkletown except Alf Reesling that ever wanted a drink, and even Alf
wouldn't take it when you offered it to him.

But in spite of Uncle Dad's sage conclusions, it was this very
prohibition question that was disturbing Anderson Crow. He sauntered
into the _Banner_ office late one afternoon in May and planked himself
down in a chair beside the editor's desk. There was a troubled look in
his eyes, which gave way to vexation after he had made three or four
fruitless efforts to divert the writer's attention from the sheet of
"copy paper" on which he was scribbling furiously.

"How do you spell beverage, Anderson?" inquired Mr. Squires abruptly.

"What kind of beverage?" demanded Mr. Crow.

"Any kind, just so it's intoxicating. Never mind, I'll take a chance and
spell it the easiest way. That's the way the dictionary spells it, so I
guess it's all right. Well, sir, what's on your mind?--besides your hat,
I mean. You look worried."

"I am worried. Have you any idee as to the size of the apple crop in
this neighbourhood last summer and fall, Harry?"

"Not the least."

"Well, sir, it was the biggest we've had since 1902, 'specially the fall
pickin."

"What's the idea? Do you want me to put something in the _Banner_ about
Bramble County's bumper crop of pippins?"

"No. I just want to ask you if there's anything in this new prohibition
amendment against apple cider?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Well, do