all her time in poring over books, magazines and papers. Every
time she finds the word HUSBAND in print she crosses it out with
blue pencil.

"From my earliest days I was accustomed to hear very little else
but talk about liquor. The fairy tales that most children are
allowed to enjoy merely as stories were explained to me by my
father as allegories bearing upon the sinister seductions of
drink. Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf, for instance, became a
symbol of young womanhood pursued by the devouring Bronx cocktail.
The princess from whose mouth came toads and snakes was (of
course) a princess under the influence of creme de menthe.
Cinderella was a young girl who had been brought low by taking a
dash of brandy in her soup. Every dragon, with which good fairy
tales are liberally provided, was the Demon Rum. It is really
amazing what stirring prohibition propaganda fairy tales contain
if you know how to interpret them.

"All this kind of palaver naturally roused my childish curiosity
as to the subject of intoxicants. But, like a docile daughter, I
fell into the career marked out for me by my father. I became a
militant for the Pan-Antis. I distributed tracts by the million; I
wrote a little poem on the idea that the gates of hell are
swinging doors with slats. I can honestly say that I never felt
any real hankering for liquor until it was prohibited altogether.
That is a curious feature of human nature, that as soon as you
forbid a thing it becomes irresistibly alluring. You remember the
story of Mrs. Bluebeard.

"It occurred to me, after booze had gone, that it was a sad thing