“I guess you’re right, Ettie,” said Fred. “They didn’t begin their domestic tyranny in advance, as you did—bless you for it.”
“But why don’t their husbands stop?” asked Esther, too deeply interested in her subject to notice her husband’s compliment. “They must see what they’re doing, and how cruel it all is.”
“They’re too far gone to stop; I suppose that’s the reason,” said Fred. “It hasn’t been easy work for me to keep my promise, Ettie, and I’m a young man; Moshier and Crayme are middle-aged men, and liquor is simply necessary to them.”
“That dreadful old Bunley wasn’t too old to reform, it seems,” said Esther. “Fred, I believe one reason is that no one has asked them to stop. See how good Harry Wainright has been since he found that so many people were interested in him that day!”
“Ye——es,” drawled Fred, evidently with a suspicion of what was coming, and trying to change the subject by suddenly burying himself in his memorandum book. But this ruse did not succeed, for Esther crossed the room to where Fred sat, placed her hands on his shoulders, and a kiss on his forehead, and exclaimed,
“Fred, you’re the proper person to reform those two men!”
“Oh, Ettie,” groaned Fred, “you’re entirely mistaken. Why, they’d laugh right in my face, if they didn’t get angry and knock me down. Reformers want to be older men, better men, men like your father, for instance, if people are to listen to them.”
“Father says they need to be men who understand the nature of those they are talking to,” replied Esther; “and you once told me that you understood Moshier and Crayme perfectly.”
“But just think of what they are, Ettie,” pleaded Fred. “Moshier is a contractor, and Crayme’s a steamboat captain; such men never reform, though they always are good fellows. Why, if I were to speak to either of them on the subject, they’d laugh in my face, or curse me. The only way I was able to make peace with them for stopping drinking myself was to say that I did it to please my wife.”
“Did they accept that as sufficient excuse?” asked Esther.