“It is you,” she said, “and your kind who make it impossible to enforce the best law our nation has ever passed. If there is liquor in that bag,” she said to Lily May, “it will not remain in this apartment one instant. Lizzie, open the bag, and pour the wretched stuff into the kitchen sink.”
I was about to open the bag, when the taxi man said that, while he was not a drinking man, plenty of hospitals need stimulants.
“You pour it down the sink,” he said, “and where is it? Nowhere, lady. But if I take it to the Samaritan, and they use it—why, it’s a Christian action, as I see it.”
I will say for Lily May that she offered no objection. She stood by, looking at each of us in turn and seeming rather puzzled. She only spoke once.
“Look here, Aunt Tish,” she began, “I was only——”
“I shall discuss this with you later and in private,” Tish cut in sternly, and motioned me to open the bag.
I did so, but it contained no alcoholic stimulant whatever; only a number of bottles and jars for the toilet. Tish eyed them, and then turned to Lily May.
“Have I your word of honor,” she said, “that these are what they purport to be?”
“Probably not,” said Lily May coolly. “Nothing is these days. But there’s nothing there for Volstead to beat his breast about. I tried to tell you.”
While she was in her room taking off her things, Tish expressed herself with her usual clearness on the situation in which she found herself.