sum that the drink
bill decreased. It would seem that prohibition had taken some effect.
But, in spite of the mass of evidence, there is still the argument
that, under prohibition, there will be much illicit selling of liquor.
It will be sold in livery stables and up back lanes, and be carried in
coal-oil cans, and labeled "gopher-poison." Even so, that will not
make it any more deadly in its effects; the effect of liquor-drinking
is much the same whether it is drunk in "the gilded saloon," where
everything is exceedingly legal and regular, or up the back lane,
absolutely without authority. Both are bad!

Under prohibition, a drunken man is a marked man--he is branded at once
as a law-breaker, and the attitude of the public is that of
indignation. Under license, a drunken man is part of the system--and
passes without comment. For this reason a small amount of drunkenness
in a prohibition territory is so noticeable that many people are
deceived into believing that there is more drunkenness under
prohibition than under license. Prohibition does not produce
drunkenness, but it reveals it, underlines it. Drunkenness in
prohibition territory is like a black mark on a white page, a dirty
spot on a clean dress; the same spot on a dirty dress would not be
noticed.

There was a licensed house in one of the small prairie towns, which
complied with all the regulations; it had the required number of
bedrooms; its windows were unscreened; the license fee was paid; the
bartender was a total abstainer, and a member of the union; also said
to be a man of good moral character; the proprietor regularly gave
twenty-five dollars a year to the Children's Aid, and put up a cup to
be competed for by the district hockey clubs. Nothing could be more
regular or respectable, and yet, when men drank the liquor there it had
appalling results. There was one Irishman who came frequently to the
bar and drank like a gentleman, treating every person and never looking
for change from his dollar bill. One Christmas Eve, the drinking went
on all night and well into Christmas Day. Then the Irishman, who was
the life of the party, went home, remembering what day it was. It all
came out in the evidence that he had taken home with him presents for
his wife and children, so that his intention toward them was the
kindest. His wife's intention was kind, too. She waited dinner for
him, and the parcels she had prepared for Christmas presents were