There is always, in any illicit transaction, a man higher up who must reap his share of the illegal profits. Usually, the American public rebels at the middleman, resents his grasping proclivities; but nowadays, being humanly thirsty, it has no time to quibble; and so long as it gets its modicum of spirits, it has little fault to find with the humanly fallible protector of the bootlegger who must receive some attention. It is willing to pay almost anything for whiskey or gin, and, used to being “done,” it good-naturedly recognizes the authorities along the way who are in a position to open stores of the desired stuff, and see that it is delivered to the crowding bootleggers. It is an endless chain; and to become wealthy overnight has always been the dream of the average American. With Prohibition, he sees an opportunity such as never existed before, and thousands are taking advantage of the situation. When one considers the amount of revenue which formerly poured into the coffers of the United States treasury because of the tax on alcohol, and what the loss of that money must mean today to the Government, one realizes that in some manner the deficit must be made up. The good old genial public is again the goat, to fall into the vernacular. Prices have risen since the passing of the Eighteenth Amendment. Hotel proprietors, who formerly counted upon a considerable income through their bars, now find themselves forced to charge higher prices for food. Time was when, if one failed to order wine with one’s meals, an extra twenty-five cents was asked. It was taken for granted that red or white wine was a part of one’s ration, as it were; and those who failed to indulge in the luxury were looked upon as rather curious specimens of humanity. A table d’hôte, with _vin rouge_, was the regular thing; and the wine was included in the price of the dinner. With the going out of all forms of drinks, naturally there had to be a readjustment of menu-cards. There is a tax now almost everywhere for bread and butter; and a cover charge is made in practically all the metropolitan restaurants. Gradually, one notes, these “extras” are creeping in. One cannot blame the hotel-keepers. Rents and wages have increased since the War; therefore they must ask more for their rooms, as well as for their dining-room service. And where one formerly tipped in moderation, the average waiter scorns anything less than fifteen or twenty per cent of the amount of one’s check. The good-natured and long-suffering American people are imposed upon at every turn. And, denied the privilege of consuming liquor openly, they give dinners in their homes, where at least there can be a semblance of harmless gayety. This causes fewer people to go to the smart restaurants in a city like New York; and generally there is no supper crowd at all. Lights are dimmed early; and while I am holding no brief for late hours, I do think that human