“Exactly. You know, when troops go into a hot country, they get flannel-covered canteens; and when they want to cool off the water in the canteens, they wet the flannel and let it dry. The evaporation of your own perspiration is the finest cooling agency in the world.” “May be,” Wint agreed. “But it doesn’t stop your thirst.” B. B. said good-naturedly: “A thirst is one of the handicaps of the smoker. I quit smoking a good many years ago. A non-smoker can satisfy his own thirst by swallowing his own spittle. I don’t suppose you ever thought of that?” “Is that straight?” “Yes, indeed.” Wint asked amiably: “Mean to say you wouldn’t have to take a barrel of water to cross the Sahara.” “Oh, when the bodily juices are exhausted, of course....” Wint grinned. “I’ll stick to my beer.” B. B. laughed and said: “I expect a good many Hardiston men are cussing you to-day because they can’t get beer.” “I suppose so. I’ve a notion to cuss myself.” He added, a moment later: “You know, B. B., it’s surprising to me how little fuss has been made over that.” “You mean--the--enforcing the law?” “Yes. I looked for a row.” “Oh, you’ll find most people are on your side. You know, most people are for the decent thing, in the long run. That’s what makes the world go around.” “Think so?” “Yes, indeed. If that weren’t so, where would be the virtue in democracy?” “Well,” Wint said good-naturedly, “I’ve always had an idea that a democracy was a poor way to run things, anyway. About all you can say for it is that a man has a right to make a fool of himself.” “Well, that’s about all you can say against slavery, isn’t it?” Wint considered. “I don’t get you.” “There were good men in the South before the war, owning slaves,” said B. B. “And the slaves were better off than their descendants are now. Materially; perhaps morally, too. But that doesn’t prove slavery was right.” He added: “The darkies had a right to make fools of themselves if they chose, you see. Their masters--even the good masters--prevented them.” “I suppose that’s what a benevolent despot does?” “Exactly.” “If it wasn’t so hot, I’d give three cheers for democracy.” He considered thoughtfully, fanning himself with his hat. “But that’s what I’m doing, B. B. I’m refusing to let some that would like to, make fools of themselves with booze.” B. B. shook his head. “Not at all. It’s not your doing. The people are doing it themselves. They voted dry; they elected you to enforce their vote. See the distinction?” “Think I’ve done right, then?” Wint asked. And B. B. said: “Yes, indeed.” Wint got a surprising amount of satisfaction out of that. Because, as has been said, he valued B. B.’s opinion. So, on the whole, that month of July was a cheerful one for Wint. Things were going his way; the world was bright; the skies were sunny.