In a community where women were a minority such a command was emphatic, so the milkman proceeded with care and circumspection. Peering about uncertainly, he carefully poured the milk into what he supposed was a milkpail. There was a tremendous commotion within, for quite innocently he had sent a forcible message into the world of silence. It later appeared that the woman of the house was ill and had been greatly disturbed by the bell, so Aunt Sarah had volunteered to end the noise. But Aunt Sarah, though a woman of large and very superior intentions, was not an expert on noises. She was very deaf, and made use of one of the old-fashioned trumpets with a mouthpiece as large as a good-sized funnel. She had not been able to fully complete her toilet, so she did not throw the door wide open; but in order to hear what the milkman had to say for himself, she made an opening just wide enough to thrust out the mouthpiece of her trumpet. The man poured the milk into it—literally giving Aunt Sarah “an earful.” I have heard of several cases where a great nervous shock or a long continuance of trouble has suddenly destroyed the hearing. I wish I might say that Aunt Sarah’s hearing was restored or improved by this milk treatment; the dispenser of the liquid declares that it had a striking effect upon her voice, but that she was quite unable to appreciate his explanation. Were I to repeat some of her remarks, I should add to the force of this narrative, but hardly to its dignity. The town of Greeley was organized as a temperance community. It was recorded in every deed or lease that the title was to be forfeited at any time that liquor was sold on the premises, and this regulation was absolutely enforced, for the settlers were a band of earnest “cranks,” who saw to it that the wheels went ’round. The result was that this town contained more cases of near-delirium tremens than any other place of equal size in the State. It came to be a favorite plan for those who had been elsewhere on a spree to come to Greeley to sober up. They could get no liquor except what they brought, and most of that was taken away from them. The first time I drove the milk wagon I encountered one of these “patients.” At a lonely place on the outskirts of town a disreputable character suddenly started up from the roadside and caught the horse’s bridle with his left hand, meanwhile pointing a long forefinger at me. He was red-eyed, unshaven and trembly, and I could not hear a word he said. I took it to be “Money or your life”—and who ever knew a milkman to have money? It turned out that he was demanding a quart of new milk with which to help float over a new leaf. I had nothing in which to serve the milk except the quart measure, but I filled that and handed it over. The man sat down on the grass and slowly drank his “medicine”; then I washed the measure in an irrigating ditch and was prepared for the next customer.