"
A cab took their luggage to the hotel. They walked up the hill. It was
the old man's suggestion.
"It'll do us good. This air beats any cocktail you can get over Luke's
bar--and they serve as good a one as you'll get anywhere, even if this
is a prohibition State."
"Wasn't it Governor Waymouth who signed the first prohibition bill in
this State?" asked Harlan.
"Still dwelling on visions of reform, eh?" inquired his grandfather,
smiling broadly. He did not reply immediately. He stepped ahead, for
they were obliged to walk in single file past a man who was sweeping
sawdust across the sidewalk. In the windows that flanked the open doors
of his shop dusty cigar boxes were piled. The shelves within were empty.
Harlan recognized the nature of the establishment. It was a grog-shop in
its partial disguise. He got the odor of stale liquors from the open
door as he passed.
"I was present when he signed it," said the Duke, as soon as they were
walking side by side once more. "Something had to be done politically
with the Washingtonian movement, you know; it had cut the cranks out of
the main herd.
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