It was easy to believe.  Her face matched her story; she was a poor, miserable, bedraggled creature, with teeth out in front.  She wore black cotton gloves such as undertakers supply for the pallbearers, and every finger was out.  The liquor traffic would have a better chance if there were not so many arguments against it walking round.

About this time, too, the traffic suffered a great bereavement, for the personal liberty argument fell, mortally wounded.  The war did that, too.

All down the ages there have been men who believed that personal liberty included the right to do what one wished to do, no matter who was hurt.  So, if a man wished to drink, by the sacred rights for which his forefathers had bled and died he was at liberty to do so, and then go home and beat up his own wife and family if he wanted to; for if you can’t beat your own wife, whom can you beat, I’d like to know?  Any one who disputed this sacred right was counted a spoil-fun and a joy-killer!

But a change came over the world’s thought in the early days of the war.  Liberty grew to be a holy word, a sacred thing, when the blood of our brightest and best was being poured out in its defense, and never again will the old, selfish, miserable conception of liberty obtain favor.  The Kaiser helped here, too, for he is such a striking example of the one who claims absolute liberty for himself, no matter who is hurt, that somehow we never hear it mentioned now.  I believe it is gone, forever!

The first step in the curtailment of the liquor traffic was the closing of the bars at seven o’clock, and the beneficial effect was felt at once.  Many a man got home early for the first time in his life, and took his whole family to the “movies.”

The economy meetings brought out some quaint speeches.  No wonder!  People were taken unawares.  We were unprepared for war, and the changes it had brought;—­we were as unprepared as the woman who said, in speaking of unexpected callers, “I had not even time to turn my plants.”  There was much unintentional humor.  One lady, whose home was one of the most beautiful in the city, and who entertained lavishly, told us, in her address on “Economy,” that at the very outbreak of the war she reduced her cook’s wages from thirty to twenty dollars, and gave the difference to the Patriotic Fund; that she had found a cheaper dressmaker who made her dresses now for fifteen dollars, where formerly she had paid twenty-five; and she added artlessly, “They are really nicer, and I do think we should all give in these practical ways; that’s the sort of giving that I really enjoy!”