editorial writers, Sitters on Committees, and tin-horn
prohibitionists.

Kennicott got up to cool his wrath and indignation with a drink
of water. He stumbled over a chair, reached for the jug, took a
drink, set the jug down, stumbled over the same chair, and
crawled back into bed. His expedition cost him the loss of all
bed covering; he gave up the fight.

"Aside from dragging my own private views over the coals of your
righteousness, did you and your friends find anything equally
pleasant and self-satisfying to discuss this
evening?"

"Eh--what's that? Why, yes, we did. We decided to refuse
permission for one of these traveling medicine shows to operate
in Plymouth."

"Medicine shows?"

"Yes--you know--like a fair in England. This one claims to come
from down south somewhere. 'Smart Set Medicine Show' it's
called, run by a fellow named Mencken. Sells cheap whisky to the
Indians-- makes them crazy, they say. He's another one of your
radical friends we don't want around."

"Yes, he might cut in on your own trading with the Indians."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Prissie--hire a hall."