II

THE LOCKOUT

HERE was a gathering on Apsleigh Avenue in the evening of the "great day for Apsleigh." According to society standards the company was not select. Neither was it festive, although the table was laden with fruits, wines, liquors, and cigars. Occasionally there was a bitter laugh, but curses were more frequent. In a more important respect than profanity and refreshments, the meeting was strikingly unlike those of the executive committee: there all held equal rank; here, by common consent, one man was dictator.

"It's war," said Denman, calmly and grimly, as the conference ended, "and war means money. Money and public sentiment together are irresistible. We have one; we'll have the other. Harpswell has already won us half the battle. There must be no demonstration, no insult to any one, no outrage of any kind. The burning of another church would be our ruin. If I don't sell in the State, the law can't touch my brewery; it will coin money for the fight. Besides, the help are our friends, and I would n't shut

down and let 'em suffer, anyway. The nuisance act can't be enforced if I retire from business in my other places. I have retired. To-morrow morning every guest and permanent boarder in my hotels will be notified to leave. Next day at noon the houses will be closed. My friends of the other hotels and the restaurants will gladly do likewise. We'll stand together and lick these cranks, horse, foot, and dragoons, till there is n't a grease spot left of 'em."

The Sunday after the hotels closed there was a mass-meeting in the city hall. Harpswell was there in high feather, and many others in feather not so high. Dr. Bradford made the opening speech, a plain statement of what the executive committee hoped to accomplish, and an earnest appeal for support. Craigin followed with a masterly ten minutes' talk. He asserted that no wrong had been so monstrous that, at some time in the past, it had not been sanctioned as inalienable right. "The divine right of kings," he said, "the right to sit in place of God and judge of other men's beliefs, the right of private vengeance, of private war, of slavery-all these have been unquestioned by the world. Where are they now?" He spoke of how the race is fighting its way steadily up to the golden age, the age of the future, not the past. "We are the Moses of the nations," so he claimed, "and the fulfilment of our God-appointed leadership depends less on blood and iron than on the virtue of our citizens." Then, in a few words, he told how the abuse of liquor makes for pauperism, disease, ignorance, degradation, vice, and crime, for all vile things, all things corrupting politics, all things that sap the

nation's life. "A generation ago," he said, "the South defied the law of the land. Men said it could not be enforced. Business was disorganized. Government bonds were wildcat investments. Billions of dollars were thrown into a pit that seemed bottomless. Hundreds of thousands of brave men went to death; hundreds of thousands more took their places. Righteous law was enforced. Treason was suppressed, and in suppressing it slavery was blotted out. From waste and agony and death have come justice, peace, prosperity, a recreated nation. Through all the ages men will thank God for the grandeur and the glory of the great uprising which saved government of the people, by the people, for the people, to the peoples of the earth. There is coming yet another great uprising. Righteous law must be,-and must be enforced. We must work out our destiny. The perils of the future must be met and done to death like treason and slavery. It can be done. Brave men can do it." Then he closed with an appeal to stand firm at all costs-an appeal so earnest, so impassioned, it made that great audience for the moment kindred spirits with himself.

Closing the hotels had aroused the people. Severe comments on Denman's course were well received from unexpected sources, and in response to a call, and on a canvass made before the meeting broke up, many persons consented to open their houses to the traveling public. Arrangements were made for publishing a directory of such houses, and delegates were chosen to see that strangers were cared for on the arrival of every train. The results of political and personal dislike for Harpswell were in great measure counteracted

by the stand of the executive committee. The audacity of an attack on Denman captivated the multitude. The meeting closed with great enthusiasm. The leaders were surprised and encouraged. At that time volunteers were abundant, but, as in '61, powder and shot, rifle and cannon, were wanting.

Weeks passed. All saloons and bar-rooms were closed. Drunkenness disappeared. The city was orderly beyond precedent. Some regarded the war as ended, and were astonished that what had seemed so difficult had proved so easy; others knew it had scarcely begun. In the absence of stirring events the business outlook became the chief topic of newspaper discussion. All of the papers published interviews. Stanch temperance men claimed that local trade in the necessaries and comforts of life was increasing. No one could deny that business from other places was falling off with alarming rapidity. The crusading spirit gradually fizzled away, like gas from sodawater, while the shadow of the giant grew larger. Forbearance under prosecution, or, as many put it, persecution, and the extraordinary quiet and good order, won over, as Denman had foreseen, influential people whom anything like an outrage would have made allies of the executive committee. It became irksome to entertain the traveling public. Strangers disliked the restraint of private houses and the consciousness of being unwelcome guests. Everybody who could shunned the town. Rival towns took advantage of the situation. Apsleigh was losing touch with the business world, was in danger of becoming isolated and decayed. Those who at first thought

Denman had made a mistake in closing the hotels began to look at it differently, and the reasons which he gave for doing so in great measure transferred the odium to the other side. Shortly after the hotels closed he went away-"to see about investments elsewhere." He did not return until the tide had begun to set strongly his way. The next morning a "Times" reporter found him at his office, to all appearance as free from anxiety as if no rumor of trouble had ever reached his ears.

"I called to interview you in regard to the hotels, if you 've no objection," said the reporter.

"Not the slightest. Won't you have a cigar? I've closed the houses because I don't want to run them at a heavy loss."

"It's made a great stir."

"Of course.

How do you like that cigar?"

"Best I ever smoked."

"Then you'll do me a favor by taking the box. Clifford has a plantation a few miles west of Havana, -best tobacco land on the island, best in the world,— and he 's sent me a whole case."

"Really, Mr. Denman," exclaimed the reporter, greatly flattered, "I don't think I ought to accept such a present! They 're so choice and-"

"Don't mention it!" interrupted Denman. "I can't get any more of Clifford, for he won't take pay; but I've arranged to buy of his agent, and shall have the pleasure of treating my friends to what they can't find outside of Cuba."

"It's a snap to be one of your friends. But I must finish this interview and write it up for the type-set