“Mr. Strong, you will ruin your chances here if you attack the saloons in this savage manner; and I’ll tell you why:  The whisky men hold a tremendous influence in Milton in the matter of political power.  The city election comes off the middle of next month.  The men up for office are dependent for election on the votes of the saloon men and their following.  You will cut your head off sure if you come out against them in public.  Why, there’s Mr. ——­, and so on (he named half a dozen men) in your church who are up for office in the coming election.  They can’t be elected without the votes of the rummies, and they know it.  Better steer clear of it, Mr. Strong.  The saloon has been a regular thing in Milton for over fifty years; it is as much a part of the town as the churches or schools; and I tell you it is a power!”

“What!” cried Philip, in unbounded astonishment, “do you tell me, you, a leading citizen of this town of 50,000 infinite souls, that the saloon power has its grip to this extent on the civic and social life of the place, and you are willing to sit down and let this devil of crime and ruin throttle you, and not raise a finger to expel the monster?  Is it possible!  It is not Christian America that such a state of affairs in our political life should be endured!”

“Nevertheless,” replied the business man, “these are the facts.  And you will simply dash your own life out against a wall of solid rock if you try to fight this evil.  You have my warning.”

“May I not also have your help!” cried Philip, hungry of soul for companionship in the struggle which he saw was coming.

“It would ruin my business to come out against the saloon,” replied the man, frankly.

“And what is that?” cried Philip, earnestly.  “It has already ruined far more than ought to be dear to you.  Man, man, what are money and business compared with your own flesh and blood?  Do you know where your own son was two nights ago?  In one of the vilest of the vile holes in this city, where you, a father, license to another man to destroy the life of your own child!  I saw him there myself; and my heart ached for him and you.  It is the necessary truth.  Will you not join with me to wipe out this curse in society?”

The merchant trembled and his lips quivered at mention of his son, but he replied: 

“I cannot do what you want, Mr. Strong.  But you can count on my sympathy if you make the fight.”  Philip finally went away, his soul tossed on a wave of mountain proportions, and growing more and more crested with foam and wrath as the first Sunday of the month drew near, and he realized that the battle was one that he must wage single-handed in a town of fifty thousand people.