“I think, madam,” he replied, “that the ballot in the hands of women would shut up the rum-shops. Would you not yourself vote to have them all cleaned out of Oakdale?”
This was touching Mrs. Forest in a tender place, but the young man knew nothing of her special interest in the question.
The doctor came in afterward, bringing Dan with him, and they held a family council on the subject of his weakness. He defended himself for awhile, declaring that he did not drink more than other fellows, but finally he broke down like a child—confessed he could not resist drinking, and said he meant to put a bullet through his head. Clara was very gentle to him. She soon hit upon the strongest motive that could be brought to bear upon him—his regard for Susie, and the hope that she had not wholly ceased to care for him. He told his mother if she hadn’t treated Susie like a dog, making her eat with Dinah instead of with the family, he should not have been ashamed of his love for her, and would have married her before ever Clara came home from school; by which all understood he meant before the appearance of Miss Marston. Dan seemed greatly relieved when he learned that Susie had gone abroad solely on business, and that there was no idea of marriage between her and the count, though he had adopted Minnie. Dan said if Susie would forgive him and care for him, he could stop drinking; and Mrs. Forest, seizing this hope, inspired Dan with it, though Clara said she did not believe he could ever win her—certainly not as a dissipated man. Dan was pretty sure of himself, and made a strong vow to abstain from drinking and follow the doctor’s directions until he looked “a little less like a corpse,” as he said. He seemed to be well pleased that Susie had not seen him in his present condition. Of course the poor fellow was sincere in his resolution; but in three days he came home reeling. Again Mrs. Forest sought Clara for advice.
“I have thought of a plan,” said Clara, “that might do some good. If you will go with me, we will visit every drinking-saloon in town; see the keepers and appeal to them. Perhaps we can get them to promise to stop selling Dan liquor.” But Mrs. Forest was not equal to the task. She said she should sink with shame to enter such places. Clara urged her most earnestly. “I am sure it will do some good at least. Mrs. Burnham, perhaps, will go with us. You see how intemperance is ruining not only Dan, but many young men. Burnham’s only son, not yet twenty, is a drunkard. Now, Mr. Burnham goes for shutting up the drinking-places. They are discussing this in the town-council, and the dealers are having their fears aroused, and could easily be persuaded to make some compromise. Do go, mamma! You would not see me go alone?”
“No, I would not; but——”
“How can you say ‘but’? I should think you would gladly make any effort to save Dan.”
“Well, go and see Mrs. Burnham. Let us see what she says.”
“Why, mother dear, it is for you to go. You and Mrs. Burnham both have sons ruined by drink. You can appeal to her as I cannot; and besides, I am so driven by my business.”
Of course, any one who waits for others to move, can never be counted on for any heroic work. Clara had to go to Mrs. Burnham herself. Mrs. Burnham believed in the move, and said she would consult her husband. She did so, and he told her to not “make a fool of herself,” which was the best thing he could have done, for it roused a spirit of defiance, and no sooner was he out of the house than she ordered her carriage, drove over to Clara’s, and announced herself ready. On the way they called for Mrs. Kendrick, who joined them, and Mrs. Forest also at the last.
In some of the places they visited, they saw sickening scenes; but Clara’s noble presence, her commanding eyes, her frank, womanly speech, gave the rest courage. She asked in every instance for a private interview with the heads of such establishments, and this interview was often had, for want of a better place, in back rooms piled with casks of liquor, demijohns, and bottles. Clara leading, the three elegant ladies followed, looking neither to the right nor to the left, but rather to the floor covered with sawdust, to absorb the tobacco-juice, ends of cigars, and dirt. The air was sickening in the extreme. Clara laid the case before the proprietors, appealed to their humanity, even when she had little faith in the existence of the sentiment, and pictured to them the suffering of mothers and wives and sisters, at the sight of their loved ones ruined for all good in this world. Some of the men affected contempt for any one who didn’t know “when he had got enough.” Mrs. Burnham occasionally put in a word of indignant protest that the town should allow poisonous liquors to be sold to young men, and boys in their teens. At one place a burly-necked, brutal man told Clara she had better go somewhere else to preach temperance, and suggested, with a leer, that a good place for her talents was among the “shriekers” at the approaching convention. When they left this place, their cheeks burning, Clara said, “Which of you ladies will tell me you have all the rights you want? These men, my friends, are your masters. These make the laws that control your property and your happiness. These men would teach us our sphere, and make us forever dependent upon them, and the laws they make without our consent.”