"For the privilege of making drunkards," retorted Mr. Cranmer. "Here, I'll explain my position by illustrating. As I was coming up just now I met old Connor's boy; he was coming up here, too. The poor fellow is hungering and thirsting after books. He has been at work over hours to my certain knowledge, for six weeks, to earn his dollar with which to join this Library Association. He just accomplished the feat last night, and was rushing over here, dollar in hand, and joy in his face. Just as he reached the door old Connor stumbled and staggered along with his jug in his hand, of course. 'Here you,' he said to the boy, 'what you hiding under your arm? And what you about, anyhow? Mischief, I'll be bound. Here give it to me whatever 'tis.' Now, gentlemen, I stood there, more shame to me, and saw that poor wretch of a father deliberately take that hard-earned dollar away from his boy. I saw the boy go crying off, and the father stagger to that rum hole across the street, get his jug filled, and pay that dollar! Now when that respectable rum-seller comes to pay his license money, he is as likely to bring that stolen dollar as any other--and they are all stolen in the first place from wives and children; and when this _splendid_ Library Association, which is an honor to the town, buys its next books, it buys them with money stolen from the Jimmy Connors of the world. That's my opinion in plain English, and I don't propose to pay my dollar in supporting any such anti-temperance institution." Theodore had listened attentively to this conversation, and his blood was roused and boiling. He turned quickly away from the long line of splendid books, and addressed Mr. Cranmer. "I entirely agree with your position, sir," he said, earnestly. "And I do not see how it is possible for any strictly temperance man to feel otherwise." "Good for you, young man," responded Mr. Cranmer, warmly. "I like especially to see a _young_ man sound and square on this subject." "Well, now, I call that straining at a gnat and swallowing a camel," remarked a gentleman who had heretofore taken no part in the conversation. "I'm a temperance man myself, always have been, but I consider that carrying the thing to a ridiculous extreme." At this point Theodore, much to his regret, heard the train whistle, and was obliged to leave the question unsettled; but the first remark he made to Mr. Stephens on his return, after business was disposed of, was: "Well, sir, I found my inspiration." "Ah, ha!" said Mr. Stephens. "Glad of that. What is your text?" "The amazing consistency of the so-called temperance world," answered Theodore, dryly.