“And every cent that didn’t go to pay ‘division’ expenses, that is--for keeping a lodge-room in shape for you to meet in, and such things--went to pay for more talk. Did you Sons of Temperance ever _buy_ a man away from his whisky? It _might_ have been done--done cheap too--in almost any week since I’ve been in Barton, by helping down-hearted men along. Did you ever do it yourself?” Father Baguss was nonplussed for a moment, noting which a bystander, also a Son of Temperance, came valiantly to the rescue of his order, by exclaiming, “Tongues was made to use, and the better the cause, the more it needs to be talked about.” “There’s no getting away from that,” said Crupp. “Talk’s all right in its place; but when anybody’s sick in your family, you don’t hire somebody to come in and talk him well, do you?” The auxiliary replied by pressing perceptibly closer to the bale of blankets against which he had been leaning, and Crupp was enabled to concentrate his attention upon Father Baguss. But the old soldier had in his military days unconsciously acquired a tactical idea or two which were frequently applicable in real life. One of them was that of flanking, and he straightway attempted it by exclaiming, “I’d use money quick enough on drunkards, if I saw anybody fit to use it on,” said he; “it would do my old soul good to find a drinking man that I could be sure money would save. But they’re a shiftless, worthless pack of shotes, all that I see of ’em. There _wuz_ a young fellow--Lije Mason his name was--that I once thought seriously of doin’ somethin’ fur; but he went an’ signed the pledge, an’ got along all right by himself.” “But there’s your own neighbors, old Tappelmine and his family--they all drink; what have you done for ’em?” asked Crupp. “A lot of Kentucky poor white trash!” exclaimed Father Baguss. “What _could_ anybody do for ’em? Besides, they do for ’emselves; they’ve stole hams out of my smoke-house more’n once, an’ they know _I_ know it, too.”