"Yes, they used to; but that was because only men used them. I said a social need, not a masculine one. We have met it in this way. Whenever we build private houses--if it is the lowest country unit, or the highest city block, we build accommodations for living together. "Every little village has its Town House, with club rooms of all sorts; the people flock together freely, for games, for talk, for lectures, and plays, and dances, and sermons--it is universal. And in the city--you don't see a saloon on every corner, but you do see almost as many places where you can 'meet a man' and talk with him on equal ground." "Meet a woman, too?" I suggested. "Yes; especially, yes. People can meet, as individuals or in groups, freely and frequently, in city or country. But men can not flock by themselves in special places provided for their special vices--without taking a great deal of extra trouble." "I should think they would take the trouble, then," said I. "But why? When there is every arrangement made for a natural good time; when you are not overworked, not underfed, not miserable and hopeless. When you can drop into a comfortable chair and have excellent food and drink in pleasant company; and hear good music, or speaking, or reading, or see pictures; or, if you like, play any kind of game; swim, ride, fly, do what you want to, for change and recreation--why long for liquor in a low place?" "But the men--the real men, people as they were," I insisted. "You had a world full of drinking men who liked the saloon; did you--what do you call it?--eliminate them?" "A few of them, yes," he replied gravely! "Some preferred it; others, thorough-going dipsomaniacs, we gave hospital treatment and permanent restraint; they lived and worked and were well provided for in places where there was no liquor. But there were not many of that kind. Most men drank under a constant pressure of conditions driving them to it, and the mere force of habit. "Just remember that the weight and terror of life is lifted off us--for good and all." "Socialism, you mean?" "Yes, real socialism. The wealth and power of all of us belongs to all of us now. The Wolf is dead." "Other things besides poverty drove a man to drink in my time," I ventured. "Oh, yes--and some men continued to drink. I told you there was liquor to be had--good liquor, too. And other drug habits held on for a while. But we stopped the source of the trouble. The old men died off, the younger ones got over it, and the new ones--that's what you don't realize yet: We make a new kind of people now." He was silent, his strong mouth set in a kind smile, his eyes looking far up the blue river. "Well, what comes next? What's done it?" I demanded. "Religion, education, or those everlasting women?" He laughed outright; laughed till the boat rocked.