"Dell, I'm only just beginning to take in the meaning of what that little neighbor girl of ours said last night. Why, Dell Parsons, we've both been born in this here town; we're only twenty-two miles out from the heart of one of the world's greatest cities and we've never sensed the true meaning of this thing they call woman suffrage and prohibition. Why, we've poked fun at it and jogged along our ignorant hayseed way and watched and watched little sweet-hearted men like Jim Tumley just stumble miserably into their graves, or a man like Sears drive his children from their home and curse his wife, or perhaps we've shuddered at the sight of Hank Lolly lying drunk in the road among the wild flowers. "When one of our drunkards dies we cut our choicest flowers and go to the funeral and maybe cry with the wife and children and then go home and wait for the next one to do it. Of course, we talk to the children and try to scare the boys into letting it alone. But that doesn't do much good because, Dell, we don't bury enough drunkards at one time to make a strong impression and convince the boys that we are right. Our boys see big, respectable men like George Hoskins and Seth Curtis and even good Billy Evans taking their drinks regularly and living and prospering. So they make up their minds that mothers are all a little bit crazy on the drink question. And the first thing we know we find that our boys have been washing down their cigarettes with a drink. And in those first sick five minutes we know, Dell, that the thing has beaten us to the boy."