grown up I hand 'em a cigar--got into the habit and can't stop. Or else
I send 'em around to Aunt Charette's and have it put on my account.
Wicked performance, I suppose, and so the old ladies tell me. But I was
born in the old rum-and-molasses times, Luke, when the liquor thing sort
of run itself, and didn't give so many cheap snoozers a job on one side
or the other."

"What's this Aunt Charette's you're talking about?" asked the chairman.

"An institution!" The Duke enjoyed the puzzled stare the little man
rolled up at him. "I reckon you think you've solved the liquor question
in this prohibition State at that hotel bar of yours, Luke. I've solved
it in my own way up here. Aunt Charette's is an institution that I've
founded. Come and look at it."

He led the way off the main street. There was a cottage at the end of a
lane, tree-embowered, neat with fresh white paint and blinds of vivid
green. An old man sat in an arm-chair under one of the trees. He wore
gold earrings and an old-style coat with brass buttons.

"Uncle Charette," explained the Duke, as they passed him. "Simply a lawn
ornament."

He led the way into the house without knocking.

"And this is Aunt Charette," he volunteered. In the centre of the
spotless fore-room a ponderous woman rocked in her huge chair and
knitted placidly. She was a picture of peaceful prosperity in black silk
gown and gold-bowed spectacles.