“Gentlemen, some politicians, more than half a century ago, simply to use a temperance movement for bait in a political campaign, dragged into our party a moral, social, and economic question that belongs to the whole people—­not merely to us as a party.  Let the people, when the right time comes and they decide the matter differently, make a law that the majority desires and will stand behind.  Just now we have in our constitution a law that forbids the manufacture and sale of intoxicating liquors in this State.  There is no option in the matter.  Just so long as our party, the dominant political power, uses that option, it is in disgrace with all decent men.  I—­”

There was a knock at the door—­the private door.

Harlan started up, but his grandfather pulled him back into his chair.

“Go on, General,” he said.

“I have drawn a resolution.  Here it is:  ’As a party, we deplore the fact that temperance, through the so-called prohibitory law, has become a matter of politics, its football to the extent that holders of public office, sworn to enforce the laws, turn from that enforcement in order to cater to public opinion which otherwise might deprive them of office.  We declare against this intolerable system of protection of lawbreakers.  Until the people shall repeal the law, we, the dominant party of the State and in control of enforcement, do pledge ourselves to faithfully enforce it, employing such law as we now have and invoking new powers through the legislature to assist us, so long as the prohibitory law shall remain in our constitution.’”

It was now Chairman Presson’s turn to look uncomfortable.

“Look here, Vard,” exploded Thornton, “I’ve been pretty patient while you’ve been amputating a few fingers and toes of the Republican party of this State, but I’ll be damned if I propose to see you cut its throat.”

There was fresh knocking at the door, but the group within the parlor had enough to think about just then without entertaining callers.

“Now you’re talking simply about yourselves and your office-holders and your dirty profits.  You’re calling that mess of nasty confederacy ’Our Party,’” declared General Waymouth, passionately.  “When honesty kills a party, let it die—­let its men get out and organize another one.  But I tell you, you can’t kill it by being honest, Thelismer.  The trouble is you’re sitting here and building for to-night—­for to-morrow.  I’m a Republican—­you can’t take that name away from me.  But the badge doesn’t belong on men who are using that name to cover up a rum-selling business.”

Chairman Presson was livid.  He leaped from his chair and drove his fist down on the table,

“Now you’re insulting me personally!” he shouted.

“I deal in no personalities, sir.  So long as I hide myself under the name of Republican and allow this thing to go on as it’s going, I’m in the traffic myself; and I don’t propose to continue in it—­not when I have power placed in my hands.”