"Very well, sir, I can offer you beer, but only if you also take some solid food. Here are beef-steak, chops, patties—choose what you like."
"All right, all right; give me beer and anything you like besides," shouted the thirsty traveller. Grumbling and vexed, he swallowed his steak and drank his beer, looking with disappointed eyes at the half-bottle that had been placed before him.
I followed the scene from my corner, and was greatly amused. During that time a gentleman who was studying my face seemed to read the meaning of my satisfied and joyful look.
"Madam," he said politely, taking off his hat, "pardon the liberty I take in addressing you, but I see you are pleased with this little scene."
"Pleased," I repeated; "no, I am not pleased, I am delighted."
"Well," continued he, "let me tell you that our struggle against drunkenness has not been in vain. And I am happy to meet people who seem to sympathise with the results of our work."
"Tell me more about it," I said. "I must know how you manage to paralyse drunkenness, even at railway stations, where there are so many sorts of people."
"Ah, it has gone further than those," proudly replied the unknown. "It seems that only a strong step in the right direction was needed to set the whole enterprise at work. The simple but important programme we have adopted is to induce our people to feel that a drunken country—like a drunkard—may easily degenerate and go to ruin. We are determined not to fall in that abyss."
"But what are the practical measures you recommend and which you apply?"