And having made this confession, let me introduce myself. Behold me, a very common sort of a woman, twenty nine years old, an ex-schoolteacher, born and piously brought up in the good state of Arkansas, fairly well educated, and, until within the last few months, almost wholly inexperienced in the ways of the wicked world. Six years ago, in my Arkansas home, I married a man whom I believed to be in every way worthy of the respect and love that I gave him and, bidding goodby to my mother and my childhood friends in the old home, went with him to St. Louis. I wonder if the good men who let the saloons flourish in all our cities and excuse themselves with the assertion that if a man will drink it is his own business, and if he makes a fool of himself, he is the only one that suffers--I wonder if those men really know what they are doing for thousands of women who do not drink but who SUFFER? Years ago, somewhere I read an article about the saloons written by some great minister or bishop, whose name I have forgotten, and, indeed, I have forgotten most of what he said, but I remember he did say that the victims of the saloon are willing victims. Great God! I have been a victim and God knows that I never was willing! I found that my husband was a drunkard. A railroad man with a good "job," able to earn a comfortable living for himself and me; he never for a day could be depended upon. Many a morning did he kiss me goodby, leaving me the impression that he had gone to his work, when it would be three days, a week, a month, sometimes three months before I saw or heard from him again, though I might be in the sorest straits for the necessities of life. Three times he did this when he knew that I was soon to become a mother. Once, after three months' absence, I heard from him in a hospital in another city. I went to him, nursed him, brought him home and when he was able to work, gave him out of my own earnings money to pay his board until payday (for his work would oblige him to board in another town) and he went away and I never saw him again for months. Forced to work for a living, I came to Chicago, finding a position in a legitimate business, although, unfortunately, it was the sort of a business that brought me into contact with many people of bad morals, and tended to deteriorate my own moral ideals. Here in Chicago, while I was buying a railroad ticket one day in a ticket broker's office, I was introduced by the clerk to a man who appeared to be a gentleman, with the suggestion that he would be willing to do for me a slight service which I needed at the moment, regarding my baggage. A few weeks after, this man, whom I had no reason to suspect of any evil motive, sought me with the offer of a good place to work. He promised me a good salary, and the offer was specially attractive in view of the fact that I was then without work, and I accepted the place in perfect good faith.