"They have no policy, and their politics consists in trying to undo all the temperance legislation they get through other parties because it does not come through theirs. As a political party they are the most fanatical and narrow-minded that history takes account of. Indeed, I doubt not that, in certain instances, their obstinate opposition to men and measures has been little short of criminal. But I will read: "'We favor the legal prohibition by state and national legislation of the manufacture, importation and sale of alcoholic beverages.'" "Eureka!" she shouted. "I am not alone. How many others like me?" "A quarter of a million, I presume," he answered, a trifle grimly. "And must I take my stand in politics away from my dear father, who is so wise and just?" "You are young, Jean, and impulsive. You will see the matter in a different light when you have given the subject more thought. I am old now. For over half a century I have studied the affairs of men, and I tell you the time is not now expedient for such an issue to be forced to the front." "When will it be?" "When sentiment is strong enough behind the movement to enforce the law." "Strange," mused Jean. "One might almost imagine, by the amount of resolving that has been done in the last few years, that sentiment was strong enough to sink the traffic five miles deep in the ocean of righteous indignation. I tell you, father, sentiment is the prime essential of the whole thing; but as long as it floats around everywhere, like moonshine, what is it good for? We need concentration and crystallization now. In other words, I believe in a party of embodied sentiment." CHAPTER IV. ASLEEP IN JESUS. Gilbert Allison, of the firm of Allison, Russell & Joy, wholesale and retail liquor dealers, walking briskly along a sideway that led toward one of the great thoroughfares of the city, halted a second before crossing the street. As he stopped a voice reached his ear. Hearing the voice he took a more careful glance at the surroundings and found himself standing in front of a plain little wooden structure that he learned, from a sign upon one corner, was some sort of an orthodox chapel. Through the narrow, open doorway the voice floated: Asleep in Jesus, blessed sleep, From which none ever wake to weep-- A calm and undisturbed repose, Unbroken by the last of foes. Asleep in Jesus! Oh, how sweet To be for such a slumber meet! With holy confidence to sing That death has lost its venom sting. Both words and tune were unfamiliar to him. Was it the song itself, sung to the sweetly pathetic tune of "Rest," was it the strangely beautiful and solemn voice of the singer, or was it common curiosity to see the owner of the unusual voice that proved the attraction prompting him to step into the vestibule? Unseen he watched as the song went on: