"What? High School boys forcing young girls to drink? And right in our glorious Branton Hills? Oh, but, Doc! This can't pass without a trial!"
"That's all right, John; but a thorn sticks out, right in plain sight."
"Thorn? Thorn? What kind of a thorn?" and our Mayor was flushing hard, as no kind of wild thoughts would point to any kind of thorns.
"That thorn," said Wilkins, "is young Norman Antor; son of——"
"Not of Councilman Antor?"
"I am sorry to say that it is so," and Wilkins told of Virginia's half-conscious murmurings. "And Nina wants to know why, with a patrolman in all parts of town, it isn't known that all this drinking is going on. I didn't say what I thought, but you know that a patrolman don't go into dancing pavilions and night clubs until conditions sanction it."
"Who is supplying this liquor?"
"Councilman Antor; but without knowing it."
All His Honor could say was to gasp:—
"How do you know that, Doc?" and Wilkins told of four calls for him in four days, to young girls, similarly drunk.