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 had not been enforced, and how he stood on the saloon question generally. The old squire puffed profusely and made promises. The next day a committee of saloon-keepers was called. The old man blew out his varicose cheeks and sputtered:

"I've ran for mayor o' this 'ere town now goin' on five times, and I'm dog damned if I ever heerd such a lot o' fool questions before!"

The next day it was rumored that Father Hennessey had told his parishioners that Squire Goddard could not be trusted. Then the storm broke. The W. C. T. U. held a mass meeting and issued an appeal to save the boys. That night husbands were put on the rack of domestic inquisition. They had it pointed out to them that there was a drunkard in every fifth family—statistics proved it—and parents didn't want their boys exposed any longer to such temptations. No one knew where the statistical lightning was going to strike.

"Suppose you want to intrust the regulation of the rum power to the Democrats, do you?" sneered the husbands, with ironical grunts, thereby moving the previous question and closing the debate. Nevertheless, after that the mayor was kept busy explain