t at Mr. Cross Moore's feet, so she
troubled no more about him. Janice realized that nobody was more
politically powerful in Polktown than Mr. Moore. But she believed she
could not possibly obtain him on the side of prohibition, so she did
not waste her strength or time in trying.

Not that Mr. Cross Moore was a drinking man himself. He was never
known to touch either liquor or tobacco. He was just a hard-fisted,
hard-hearted, shrewd and successful country politician; and there
appeared to be no soft side to his character. Unless that side was
exposed to his invalid wife. And nobody outside ever caught Mr. Moore
displaying tenderness in particular to her, although he was known to
spend much time with her.

He had fought his way up in politics and in wealth, from very poor and
small beginnings. From his birth in an ancient log cabin, with parents
who were as poor and miserable as the Trimminses or the Narnays to
being president of the Town Council and chairman of the School
Committee, was a long stride for Mr. Cross Moore--and nobody
appreciated the fact more clearly than himself.

Money had been the best friend he had ever had. Without Elder
Concannon's streak of acquisitiveness in his character that made the
good old man almost miserly, Mr. Cross Moore possessed the
money-getting ability, and a faith in the creed that "Wealth is Power"
that nothing had yet shaken in his long experience.

For a number of years Polktown had been free of any public
dram-selling, although the voters had not put themselves on record as
desiring prohibition. Occasionally a more or less secret place for the
selling of liquor had risen and was quickly put down. There had, in
the opinion of the majority of the citizens, been no call for a
drinking place, and there would probably have been no such local demand
had Lem Parraday--backed by Mr. Moore, who held the mortgage on the
Inn--not desired to increase the profits of that hostelry. The license
was taken out that visitors to Polktown might be satisfied.

There had been no local demand for the sale of liquor, as has been
said. Those who made a practise of using it could obtain all they
wished at Middletown, or other places near by. But once having allowed
the traffic a foothold in the hamlet, it would be hard to dislodge it.

John Barleycorn is fighting for his life. He has few real friends,
indeed, among his consumers. No man knows better the danger of alcohol
than the ma