Forest City press. (Forest City, Potter County, D.T. [S.D.]) 1883-19??, 1917-05-25

~ wish you'd tell me exactly
how you feel about this thing"
the newspaper man asked him.
"How do you mcan?"
81 don't like to rush off and
leave you here with all this work
and the great burden of what the
day has brought forth. I'd like to
know just how you feel"
81 don't think | feel at all vet"
Smith answered him, putting a
hand on his shoulder. GIVE been
making q great etfortNto dissociatc
myself, personally, from it, to keep
at the work. [ can't trust myself
yet to consider what it may mean
to my personal happiness. And
I'm afraid-a little afraid of what
the country will say tomorrow"
"Let us attend to that Waller
cheered him. "You do the work
and you'll get by"
cat any rate" he concluded.
81 would give almost anything in
the world to walk this minutes i'm
to the house with the red-lac-
quered balcony on the Foochow
road"
He dined alone that evening in a
quiet little restaurant, where he
knew he would not be ANNOYED by
the curious. AS he left the place.
a man stepped up to him and
touched him on the arm. He
stopped. His thoughts had been
such as to make him welcome any,
body he had never seen before.
There was in his mind for an in
slant the hope that this stranger
also might know something about
him. A second glance showed
that the man had been drinking.
What can l do for you?"
Smith responded to the touch on
his arm and to the close scrutiny.
The stranger was about As years
OF age, seedy as to his dress,
unkempt as to his linen and era
vat. In spite Of the onslaughts
alcohol had made on his appear
ance, there was in his face. the hint
Of a bygone decency, the ghost of
a real intellect. He was pudgy and
short of stature.
"May | walk a little way with
you?' he requested, his voice a
little thick. II can tell you some
interesting things"
"By all MEANS" the agitator
agreed.
They fell into step together. 1t
was a crisp, clear evening. Over
head the moon, dimming the street
light, hung in a silver sash Of
feecy clouds.
81 know who you are" the
stranger began, "the prohibition
leader. You can take a look at me
and know who / am. I'm the Man
Who Could Handle It. / belong to
that noble army Of sports who
drink on a system and have whis-
ky under perfect control"
He spoke in a vein of broad sar-
casm, in tune with bitterness.
"That is, l used to be the Man
Who Could Handle 1t. | now dec
crate the ranks of those who have
gone down and out. AS the Man
Who Could Handle 1t, l was a star
performer. Ny will power was
beautiful to behold. My physique
was impervious to all ills and
pains, l could work and attend to
business all the time-could do it
just a little better with a few
drinks under my belt. The alcohol
was what my system needed. The
drinks gave me a whole lot of
bright ideas, and it made me So
cable and popular"
He stopped a moment, full in the
moonlight.
"You' We heard that talk before
haven't you9" he inquired sol
emily.
MANY times" Smith assented,
falling into step again.
II felt a real scorn for the fell
lows who got drunk. / studied
some of them quite closely. They
were curiosities to me. The stuff
was meant to be enjoyed, not
abused. l thought the drunkards
were swine. That went on for 10
years. For 10 years l was the Man