h its new energy and
enterprise, one of the greatest seats of the distillery business, in
fact, _the_ whisky capital of the North--"

"But I thought," I interrupted, much puzzled, "that whisky was
prohibited here since last September?"

"Export whisky--_export_, my dear sir," corrected Mr. Narrowpath. "We
don't interfere, we have never, so far as I know, proposed to interfere
with any man's right to make and export whisky. That, sir, is a plain
matter of business; morality doesn't enter into it."

"I see," I answered. "But will you please tell me what is the meaning
of this other crowd of drays coming in the opposite direction? Surely,
those are beer barrels, are they not?"

"In a sense they are," admitted Mr. Narrowpath. "That is, they are
_import_ beer. It comes in from some other province. It was, I imagine,
made in this city (our breweries, sir, are second to none), but the sin
of _selling_ it"--here Mr. Narrowpath raised his hat from his head and
stood for a moment in a reverential attitude--"rests on the heads of
others."

The press of vehicles had now thinned out and we moved on, my guide
still explaining in some detail the distinction between business
principles and moral principles, between whisky as a curse and whisky as
a source of profit, which I found myself unable to comprehend.

At length I ventured to interrupt.

"Yet it seems almost a pity," I said, "that with all this beer and
whisky around an unregenerate sinner like myself should be prohibited
from getting a drink."

"A drink!" exclaimed Mr. Narrowpath. "Well, I should say so. Come right
in here. You can have anything you want."

We stepped through a street door into a large, long room.

"Why," I exclaimed in surprise, "this is a bar!"

"Nonsense!" said my friend. "The _bar_ in this province is forbidden.
We've done with the foul thing for ever. This is an Import Shipping
Company's Delivery Office."

"But this long counter--"

"It's not a counter, it's a desk."

"And that bar-tender in his white jacket--"

"Tut! Tut! He's not a bar-tender. He's an Import Goods Delivery Clerk."

"What'll you have, gentlemen," said the Import Clerk, polishing a glass
as he spoke.

"Two whisky and sodas," said my friend, "long ones."

The Import Clerk mixed the drinks and set them on the desk.

I was about to take one, but he interrupted.

"One minute, sir," he said.

Then he took up a desk telephone that stood beside him and I heard him
call