“Put him out!” “It’s a shame!” “Disgraceful!” were some of the cries which were heard in the room.
“Mr. Digg is a citizen of Backley,” said the Chairman, rapping vigorously to call the audience to order, “and though not a member of the Association, he is entitled to a hearing.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chairman,” said Joe Digg, when quiet was restored; “your words are the first respectful ones I’ve ever heard in Backley, an’ I do assure you I appreciate ’em. But I want the audience to understand I ain’t drunk—I haven’t had a cent for two days, an’ nobody’s treated me.”
By this time the audience was very quiet, but in a delicious fever of excitement. A drunkard speaking right out in a temperance meeting!—they had never heard of such a thing in their lives. Verily, Backley was going to add one to the roll of modest villages made famous by unusual occurrences.
“I ’spose, Mr. Chairman,” continued Joe Digg, “that the pint of temp’rance meetin’s is to stop drunkenness, an’ as I’m about the only fully developed drunkard in town, I’m most likely to know what this meetin’s ’mounted to.”
Squire Breet inclined his head slightly, as if to admit the correctness of Joe Digg’s position.
“I believe ev’ry word the gentleman has said,” continued the drunkard, “and”—here he paused long enough to let an excitable member exclaim “Bless the Lord!” and burst into tears—“and he could have put it all a good deal stronger without stretchin’ the truth. An’ the sorrer of a drunkard’s home can be talked about ‘till the Dictionary runs dry, an’ then ye don’t know nothin’ ’bout it. But hain’t none of ye ever laughed ’bout lockin’ the stable door after the hoss is stolen? That’s just what this temp’rance meetin’ an’ all the others comes to.”
A general and rather indignant murmur of dissent ran through the audience.
“Ye don’t believe it,” continued Joe Digg, “but I’ve been a drunkard, an’ I’m one yet, an’ ye all got sense enough to understan’ that I ort to know best about it.”
“Will the gentleman have the kindness to explain?” asked the lecturer.