Danger | Page 7

that I heard a lady speak of his conduct as
disgraceful."
"That will never do," exclaimed Mr. Birtwell, betraying much
excitement. "He will have to change all this or give up Blanche. I don't
care what his family is if he isn't all right himself."
"It is easier to get into trouble than out of it," was replied. "Things have
gone too far between them."
"I don't believe it. Blanche will never throw herself away on a man of
bad habits."
"No; I do not think she will. But there may be, in her view, a very great
distance between an occasional glass of wine too much at an evening
party and confirmed bad habits. We must not hope to make her see with
our eyes, nor to take our judgment of a case in which her heart is
concerned. Love is full of excuses and full of faith. If Ellis Whitford
should, unhappily, be overcome by this accursed appetite for drink
which is destroying so many of our most promising young men, there is
trouble ahead for her and for us."
"Something must be done about it. We cannot let this thing go on," said
Mr. Birtwell, in a kind of helpless passion. "A drunkard is a beast. Our
Blanche tied to a beast! Ugh! Ellis must be talked to. I shall see him
myself. If he gets offended, I cannot help it. There's too much at
stake--too much, too much!"

"Talking never does much in these cases," returned Mrs. Birtwell,
gloomily. "Ellis would be hurt and offended."
"So far so good. He'd be on guard at the next party."
"Perhaps so. But what hope is there for a young man in any danger of
acquiring a love of liquor as things now are in our best society? He
cannot always be on guard. Wine is poured for him everywhere. He
may go unharmed in his daily walks through the city though thousands
of drinking-saloons crowd its busy streets. They may hold out their
enticements for him in vain. But he is too weak to refuse the tempting
glass when a fair hostess offers it, or when, in the midst of a gay
company wine is in every hand and at every lip. One glass taken, and
caution and restraint are too often forgotten. He drinks with this one
and that one, until his clear head is gone and appetite, like a watchful
spider, throws another cord of its fatal web around him."
"I don't see what we are to do about it," said Mr. Birtwell. "If men can't
control themselves--" He did not finish the sentence.
"We can at least refrain from putting temptation in their way,"
answered his wife.
"How?"
"We can refuse to turn our houses into drinking-saloons," replied Mrs.
Birtwell, voice and manner becoming excited and intense.
"Margaret, Margaret, you are losing yourself," said the astonished
husband.
"No; I speak the words of truth and soberness," she answered, her face
rising in color and her eyes brightening. "What great difference is there
between a drinking-saloon, where liquor is sold, and a gentleman's
dining-room, where it is given away? The harm is great in
both--greatest, I fear, in the latter, where the weak and unguarded are
allured and their tastes corrupted. There is a ban on the drinking-saloon.
Society warns young men not to enter its tempting doors. It is called the

way of death and hell. What makes it accursed and our home saloon
harmless? It is all wrong, Mr. Birtwell--all wrong, wrong, wrong! and
to-day we are tasting some of the fruit, the bitterness of which, I fear,
will be in our mouths so long as we both shall live."
Mrs. Birtwell broke down, and sinking back in her chair, covered her
face with her hands.
"I must go to Frances," she said, rising after a few moments.
"Not now, Margaret," interposed her husband. "Wait for a while.
Archie is neither murdered nor frozen to death; you may take my word
for that. Wait until the morning advances, and he has time to put in an
appearance, as they say. Henry can go round after breakfast and make
inquiry about him. If he is still absent, then you might call and see Mrs.
Voss. At present the snow lies inches deep and unbroken on the street,
and you cannot possibly go out."
Mrs. Birtwell sat down again, her countenance more distressed.
"Oh, if it hadn't happened in our house!" she said. "If this awful thing
didn't lie at our door!"
"Good Heavens, Margaret! why will you take on so? Any one hearing
you talk might think us guilty of murder, or some other dreadful crime.
Even if the worst fears are realized, no blame can lie with us. Parties
are given every night, and young men,