PRACTICAL TEMPERANCE REFORM
The small town of Durford was not immune from the curse of drink:
there was no doubt about that. Other forms of viciousness there were
in plenty; but the nine saloons did more harm than all the rest of the
evil influences put together, and Maxwell, though far from being a
fanatic, was doing much in a quiet way to neutralize their bad
influence. He turned the Sunday School room into a reading room during
the week days, organized a gymnasium, kept watch of the younger men
individually, and offered as best he could some chance for the
expression of the gregarious instinct which drew them together after
the work of the day was over. In the face of his work in these
directions, it happened that a venturesome and enterprising
saloon-keeper bought a vacant property adjacent to the church, and
opened up an aggressive business--much to Maxwell's dismay.
Among the women of the parish there was a "Ladies' Temperance League,"
of which Mrs. Burke was president. They held quarterly meetings, and
it was at one of the meetings held at Thunder Cliff, and at which Mrs.
Burke presided, that she remarked severely:
"Mrs. Sapley, you're out of order. There's a motion before the house,
and I've got something to say about it myself. Mrs. Perkins, as Mrs.
Maxwell was unable to be present, will you kindly take the chair, or
anything else you can lay your hands on, and I'll say what I've got to
say."
Mrs. Perkins took Mrs. Burke's place as the president, while Mrs.
Burke rubbed her glasses in an impatient way; and having adjusted
them, began in a decided tone from which there was meant to be no
appeal:
"The fact is, ladies, we're not gettin' down to business as we ought
to, if we are to accomplish anything. We've been singing hymns, and
recitin' lovely poems, and listenin' to reports as to how money spent
for liquor would pay off the national debt; and we've been sayin'
prayers, and pledgin' ourselves not to do things none of us ever was
tempted to do, or thought of doin', and wearin' ribbons, and attendin'
conventions, and talkin' about influencin' legislation at Washington,
and eatin' sandwiches, and drinkin' weak tea, and doin' goodness knows
what; but we've not done a blessed thing to stop men drinkin' right
here in Durford and breakin' the town law; you know that well
enough."
Mrs. Burke paused for breath after this astounding revolutionary
statement, and there was a murmur of scandalized dissent from the
assembled ladies at this outspoken expression on the part of the
honorable president of the Parish Guild.
"No," she continued emphatically, "don't you fool yourselves. If we
can't help matters right here where we live, then there's no use
havin' imitation church sociables, and goin' home thinkin' we've
helped the temperance cause, and callin' everybody else bad names who
don't exactly agree with us."
Again there were symptoms of open rebellion against this traitorous
heresy on the part of the plainspoken president; but she was not to
be easily silenced; so she continued:
"Men have got to go somewheres when their work is over, and have a
good time, and I believe that we won't accomplish anything until we
fix up a nice, attractive set of rooms with games, and give 'em
something to drink."
Cries of "Oh! Oh! Oh!" filled the room.
"I didn't say whiskey, did I? Anybody would think I'd offered to treat
you, the way you receive my remarks. Now we can't get the rooms right
off, 'cause we can't yet afford to pay the rent of 'em. But there's
one thing we can do. There's Silas Bingham--the new man. He's gone and
opened a saloon within about a hundred feet of the church, and he's
sellin' liquor to children and runnin' a slot machine besides. It's
all against the law; but if you think the village trustees are goin'
to do anythin' to enforce the law, you're just dead wrong, every one
of you. The trustees are most of 'em in it for graft, and they 'aint
goin' to close no saloon when it's comin' election day 'for long, not
if Bingham serves cocktails between the hymns in church. Maybe the
trustees'd come to church better if he did. Maybe you think I'm usin'
strong language; but it's true all the same, and you know it's true.
Silas Bingham's move is a sassy challenge to us: are we goin' to lie
down under it?"
"I must say that I'm painfully surprised at you, Mrs. Burke," Mrs.
Burns began. "You surely can't forget what wonderful things the League
has accomplished in Virginia and----"
"Yes," Mrs. Burke interrupted, "but you see Durford 'aint in Virginia
so far as heard from, and it's our business to get up and hustle right
here where we live. Did you think we were tryin' to reform Virginia or
Alaska by absent treatment?"
Mrs. Sapley could not contain herself another moment; so, rising to
her feet excitedly she sputtered:
"I do not agree with you, Mrs. Burke; I do not agree with you at all.
Our meetings have been very inspiring and helpful to us all, I am
perfectly sure; very uplifting and encouraging; and I am astonished
that you should speak as you do."
"I'm very glad you've found them so, Mrs. Sapley. I don't drink
myself, and I don't need no encouragin' and upliftin'. It's the weak
man that drinks who needs encouragin' and upliftin'; and he wouldn't
come near one of our meetin's any more than a bantam rooster would try
to hatch turtles from moth-balls. We've got to clear Silas Bingham
from off the church steps."
"Well," Mrs. Burns inquired, "what do you propose to do about it, if I
may be allowed to inquire?"
"Do? The first thing I propose to do is to interview Silas Bingham
myself privately, and see what I can do with him. Perhaps I won't
accomplish nothin'; but I'm goin' to try, anyway, and make him get out
of that location."
"You can, if anybody can," Mrs. Sapley remarked.
"Thank you for the compliment, Mrs. Sapley. Now Mrs. President, I
move, sir--that is, madam--that the parish League appoints me to
interview Bingham."
The motion was duly seconded and passed, notwithstanding some mild
protests from the opposition, and Mrs. Burke resumed her place as
presiding officer of the meeting. Then she continued:
"Excuse me; I forgot the previous question which somebody moved. Shall
we have lettuce or chicken sandwiches at our next meetin'? You have
heard the question. Those in favor of chicken please say aye. Ah! The
ayes have the chicken, and the chicken is unanimously carried. Any
more business to come before the meetin'? If not, we'll proceed to
carry out the lit'ary program arranged by Miss Perkins. Then we'll
close this meetin' by singin' the 224th hymn. Don't forget the basket
by the door."
* * * * *
Silas Bingham was an undersized, timid, pulpy soul, with a horizontal
forehead, watery blue eyes, and a receding chin. Out of "office hours"
he looked like a meek solicitor for a Sunday School magazine. One
bright morning just as he had finished sweeping out the saloon and was
polishing the brass rod on the front of the bar, Mrs. Burke walked in,
and extended her hand to the astonished bar-keeper, whose chin dropped
from sheer amazement. She introduced herself in the most cordial and
sympathetic of tones, saying:
"How do you do, Mr. Bingham? I haven't had the pleasure of meetin' you
before; but I always make it a point to call on strangers when they
come to town. It must be awful lonesome when you first arrive and
don't know a livin' soul. I hope your wife is tolerable well."
Bingham gradually pulled himself together and turned very red, as he
replied:
"Thanks! But my wife doesn't live here. It's awful kind of you, I'm
sure; but you'll find my wife in the third house beyond the bakery,
down two blocks--turn to the right. She'll be glad to see you."
"That's good," Hepsey responded, "but you see I don't have much to do
on Thursdays, and I'll just have a little visit with you, now I'm
here. Fine day, isn't it."
Mrs. Burke drew up a chair and sat down, adjusted her feet comfortably
to the rung of another chair, and pulled out her knitting from her
work-bag, much to the consternation of the proprietor of the place.
"How nice you've got things fixed up, Mr. Bingham," Hepsey remarked,
gazing serenely at the seductive variety of bottles and glasses, and
the glare of mirrors behind the bar. "Nothin' like havin' a fine
lookin' place to draw trade. Is business prosperin' now-a-days?"
Silas turned three shades redder, and stammered badly as he replied:
"Yes, I'm doin' as well as I can expect--er--I suppose."
"Probably as well as your customers are doin', I should imagine? You
don't need to get discouraged. It takes time to work up a trade like
yours in a nice, decent neighborhood like this."
Silas stared hard at the unwelcome intruder, glancing apprehensively
at the door from which several customers had already turned away when,
through the glass, they had caught sight of Mrs. Burke. He was
desperately ill at ease, and far from responding cordially to Hepsey's
friendly advances; and his nervousness increased as his patrons
continually retreated, occasionally grinning derisively at him through
the glass in the door.
"If you don't mind my sayin' it, Mrs. Burke, I think you'd be a lot
more comfortable at my house than you are here."
"Oh, I'm perfectly comfortable, thanks; perfectly comfortable. Don't
you worry a bit about me."
"But this is a saloon, and it 'aint just what you might call
respectable for ladies to be sittin' in a saloon, now, is it?"
"_Why not?_"
The question was so sudden, sharp and unexpected that Silas jumped and
almost knocked over a bottle of gin, and then stared in silent chagrin
at his guest, his nervous lips moving without speech.
"I don't see," Hepsey continued, "just why the men should have all the
fun, and then when a woman takes to enjoyin' herself say that it isn't
respectable. What's the difference, I'd like to know? This is a right
cheerful place, and I feel just like stayin' as long as I want to.
There's no law against a woman goin' to a saloon, is there? I saw Jane
Dwire come out of here Saturday night. To be sure, Jane 'aint just
what you'd call a 'society' lady, as you might say; but as long as I
behave myself I don't see why I should go."
"But, ma'am," Silas protested in wrathful desperation, "I must ask you
to go. You'll hurt my trade if you stay here any longer."
"Hurt your trade! Nonsense! You aren't half as polite as I thought you
were. I'm awful popular with the gentlemen. You ought to be payin' me
a commission to sit here and entertain your customers, instead of
insinuatin' that I 'aint welcome. Ah! Here comes Martin Crowfoot.
Haven't seen Martin in the longest time."
Martin slouched in and reached the bar and ordered before he caught
sight of Mrs. Burke. He was just raising the glass to his lips when
Hepsey stepped up briskly, and extending her hand, exclaimed:
"How do you do, Martin? How are the folks at home? Awful glad to see
you."
Martin stared vacantly at Mrs. Burke, dropped his glass, and muttered
incoherently. Then he bolted hastily from the place without paying for
his drink.
Bingham was now getting a bit hysterical over the situation, and was
about to make another vigorous protest, when Hiram Green entered and
called for some beer. Again Hepsey extended her hand cordially, and
Hiram jumped as if he had seen a ghost--for they had been friendly for
years.
"Hepsey Burke, what in the name of all that's decent are you doin' in
a place like this?" he demanded when he could get his breath. "Don't
you know you'll ruin your reputation if you're seen sittin' in a
saloon?"
"Oh, don't let that worry you, Hiram, My reputation'd freeze a stroke
of lightnin'. You don't seem to be worryin' much about your own
reputation."
"Oh well, a man can do a lot of things a woman can't, without losin'
his reputation."
For an instant the color flamed into Mrs. Burke's face as she retorted
hotly:
"Yes, there's the whole business. A man can drink, and knock the
seventh commandment into a cocked hat; and then when he wants to
settle down and get married he demands a wife as white as snow. If he
gets drunk, it's a lark. If she gets drunk, it's a crime. But I didn't
come here to preach or hold a revival, and as for my welfare and my
reputation, Mr. Bingham and I was just havin' a pleasant afternoon
together when you came in and interrupted us. He's awful nice when you
get to know him real intimate. Now, Hiram, I hate to spoil your fun,
and you do look a bit thirsty. Suppose you have a lemonade on me, if
you're sure it won't go to your head. It isn't often that we get out
like this together. Lemonades for two, Mr. Bingham; and make Hiram's
real sweet."
Mrs. Burke enjoyed hugely the disgust and the grimaces with which
Green swallowed the syrupy mixture. He then beat a hasty retreat down
the street. For two hours Hepsey received all who were courageous
enough to venture in, with most engaging smiles and cordial
handshakes, until Silas was bordering on madness. Finally he emerged
from the bar and mustered up sufficient courage to threaten:
"Mrs. Burke, if you don't quit, I'll send for the police," he
blustered.
Hepsey gazed calmly at her victim and replied:
"I wouldn't, if I was in your place."
"Well then, I give you fair warning I'll put you out myself if you
don't go peaceable in five minutes."
"No, Silas; you're wrong as usual. You can't put me out of here until
I'm ready to go. I could wring you out like a mop, and drop you down a
knot-hole, and nobody'd be the wiser."
The door now opened slowly and a small girl, miserably clad, entered
the saloon. Her head was covered with a worn, soiled shawl. From
underneath the shawl she produced a battered tin pail and placed it on
the bar with the phlegmatic remark, "Pa wants a quart of beer."
Mrs. Burke looked at the girl and then at Bingham, and then back at
the girl inquiringly.
"Are you in the habit of gettin' beer here, child?"
"Sure thing!" the girl replied, cheerfully.
"How old are you?"
"Ten, goin' on eleven."
"And you sell it to her?" Hepsey asked, turning to Bingham.
"Oh, it's for her father. He sends for it." He frowned at the child
and she quickly disappeared, leaving the can behind her.
"Does he? But I thought you said that a saloon was no place for a
woman; and surely it can't be a decent place for a girl under age. Now
my friend, I've got somethin' to say to you."
"You are the very devil and all," Silas remarked.
"Thanks, Silas. The devil sticks to his job, anyway; and owin' to the
likes of you he wins out, nine times out of ten. Now will you clear
out of this location, or won't you?"
"Another day like this would send me to the lunatic asylum."
"Then I'll be around in the mornin' at six-thirty sharp."
"You just get out of here," he threatened.
"If you promise to clear out yourself within three days."
"I guess I'd clear out of Heaven itself to get rid of you."
"Very well; and if you are still here Saturday afternoon, ten of us
women will come and sit on your steps until you go. A woman can't vote
whether you shall be allowed to entice her men-folk into a place like
this, and at the very church door; but the average woman can be mighty
disagreeable when she tries."
Silas Bingham had a good business head: he reckoned up the costs--and
cleared out.
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