IF PROHIBITION COMES BACK TO AMERICA.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 19946, 13 November 1926, Page 19

IF PROHIBITION COMES BACK TO AMERICA.

“Do you think Prohibition will .ever come back to America?” I asked my host as he drew a whisky flask from his hip pocket and despatched the club steward for more soda-water. “That an English joke?” queried my host as he deftly tipped the flask with caressing fingers. “Say how!” “No, merely an American contradiction. A little more soda.”

“We have always been a contradictory people. Guess you couldn’t get better whisky than that in London.” For example? No; your bootlegger knows his job.” “Well, take this matter of Prohibition. It shows the difference between us. You people will fight to the last ballot box to keep an unpopular Bill from becoming law; but once it becomes law you meekly accept it as something ordained. Now we don’t bother about any political move until it has become law, and then if it is unpopular we fight like men to break it. This whisky sets me back six dollars a bottle, but it’s worth it.” This conversation, held in a wellknown club in New York, may do something to explain why in dry America they “drink between drinks,” while in our own wet country our drinking facilities are dry-nursed. In England we take a drink as a pleasant natural habit; in America they endow a "drink with the ritual of a social sacrament. Here we take drink with our meals; there they take meals with their drink. Seated on a swing in the back porch of a charming country house, listening to my young hostess airing the servant problem (£5 a week and they won’t stay more than a month), I heard a heavy pounding in the region of the dining room. “That is Henry crushing the ice,” explained my hostess. “You see, it has to be very fine or the julep will be spoiled.” Mint julep, the nectar of the south! I had read of it; how it was solemnly prepared by courteous old colonels and gracefully presented as,the very flavour of southern hospitality. But never had I seen mint julep; and when Henry arrived in triumph and shirt-sleeves I stared curiously at two large goblets he held poised in reverent hands. Tender leaves of fresh, fragrant mint floated in, nay, grew out of the crystal goblets wherein diamonds of ice gleamed and sparkled. Placing one of these charmed goblets before me, he returned for a third, and then we three gravely, lingeringly, lovingly drank the nectar of the south. Never shall I forget that drink. “Just rye whisky, mint, and crushed ice,” explained Henry in response to my silent rapture. “Nonsense!” I replied. “It is made of fairy tales and nursery rhymes mixed with frozen kisses.” After that we took out the car and drove to a wayside inn, where Henry and I stood at a bar and drank cocktails while Mrs Henry ordered clams, and hot lobsters and pie, and ice cream and other tilings that women order if they are left alone. And Henry and I drank beer from tankards, and Mrs Henry had half a bottle of Burgundy, and Henry and I had liquer brandies. Then Henry said would I like Irish whisky, and I said that after hot lobster and ice cream I was bound to have something and it might as well lie Irish whisky. So Henry and I had Irish whisky, and Mrs Henry had an inspiration and she rang up a friend famous for the resource of his bootlegger. Then I made the acquaintance of the friend and the resource of his bootlegger, and then— Wonderful stuff, mint julep! Walking along Broadway (or it may be 42nd street) one sultry afternoon, I met a man whom I had known in London. He said, “You’ve got a temperature.” I said, “No, I had a temperature an hour ago; but now it has ceased to be a temperature and lias turned into something that doctors argue about after you are dead.” He made no reply, but took me past an ice-cream parlour and through a swing door and into a room where several men were standing each with one foot .on a brass rail. And I know that I was very ill and suffering from illusions, for the room looked like a saloon bar, and a man in his shirt-sleeves, who stood behind the bar and looked exactly like a barman, gave me something in a glass that looked and tasted like iced lager, only more so. I told the man I had met in London about my illusions, and he told me not to worry and said that most Englishmen were taken like that when they came to New York for the first time. So I did not worry, but the illusions remained very persistent. Another time in 33rd street (or perhaps it was 42nd street) I met a man whom I had never seen in London and he said would I like an Italian dinner. And I tried to be funny and said I would very mucl\ like to have an Italian dinner with Italian wine. The man 1 had never seen in London said, “Sure,” and we went to a quiet restaurant where there were two rows of tables set for dinner, but the room was empty. I said, “Wo are too early.” He said nothing, but walked through the room and into a kitchen, and through the kitchen into a smaller room. And there we had a perfect Italian dinner with a large flask of choice Chianti.

No, I don’t think Prohibition will ever come back to the United States!