"
The press of vehicles had now thinned out and we moved
on, my guide still explaining in some detail the distinction
between business principles and moral principles, between
whisky as a curse and whisky as a source of profit, which
I found myself unable to comprehend.
At length I ventured to interrupt.
"Yet it seems almost a pity," I said, "that with all this
beer and whisky around an unregenerate sinner like myself
should be prohibited from getting a drink."
"A drink!" exclaimed Mr. Narrowpath. "Well, I should say
so. Come right in here. You can have anything you want."
We stepped through a street door into a large, long room.
"Why," I exclaimed in surprise, "this is a bar!"
"Nonsense!" said my friend. "The _bar_ in this province
is forbidden. We've done with the foul thing for ever.
This is an Import Shipping Company's Delivery Office."
"But this long counter--"
"It's not a counter, it's a desk."
"And that bar-tender in his white jacket--"
"Tut! Tut! He's not a bar-tender. He's an Import Goods
Delivery Clerk."
"What'll you have, gentlemen," said the Import Clerk,
polishing a glass as he spoke.
"Two whisky and sodas," said my friend, "long ones.
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