"Yes, sir," said Janice. "Men mean enough to sell liquor are mean enough to do anything. And not only those who actually sell the stuff are to blame in a case like this, but those who encourage the sale of it."
Mr. Cross Moore uncrossed his long legs and crossed them slowly the other way. He always had a humorous twinkle in his shrewd gray eye. He had it now.
"Meaning me?" he drawled, eyeing the indignant young girl just as he would look at an angry kitten.
"Yes, Mr. Moore," said Janice, with dignity. "A word from you, and Lem Parraday would stop selling liquor. He would have to. And without your encouragement he would never have entered into the nefarious traffic. Polktown is being injured daily by that bar at the Inn, and you more than any other one person are guilty of this crime against the community!"
Mr. Cross Moore did not change his attitude. Janice was panting and half crying now. The selectman said, slowly:
"I might say that you are an impudent girl."
"I guess I am," Janice admitted tearfully. "But I mean every word I have said, and I won't take it back."
"You and I have been good friends, Janice Day," continued Mr. Moore in his drawling way. "I never like to quarrel with my friends."
"You can be no friend of mine, Mr. Moore, till the sale of liquor stops in this town, and you are converted," declared Janice, wiping her eyes, but speaking quite as bravely as before.
"Then it is war between us?" he asked, yet not lightly.