The Poplar Standard

SALOON SERMON
Not All Drink Merchants Black as Painted

The saloonkeeper of tradition, as pictured by the average temperance lecturer, is a coarse person who sends his victims down to death, doom and perdition by dispensing rum, not to mention the more popular mixed drinks, which, by the way, the lecturers never mention. That saloonkeeper of storied reputation merely sends his prey to the brink for the purpose of gloating over his evil victories.

He doesn't apply strict business principles to the sinful work, as one drink merchant recently was alleged to do.

At the bar of this man's place two customers leaned one day not long ago. One was a transient. The other dropped in every other day or so and presumed to address the proprietor by his familiar handle of "Bill." As they stood there a miserable looking fellow shuffles in. He almost collapsed against the bar and pleaded faintly for a drink. A search of his pockets disclosed no coins. The barkeeper looked at him for a minute, then turned about and poured out a finger of fiery concoction.

The dismal specimen gulped it eagerly, murmured "thanks," and shambled out.

"See that poor fellow that just went out," whispered the more or less regular customer to the transient. "On his last legs, isn't he? Well, would you believe it, that man was sent to the bad by liquor bought here. The proprietor knew that he wasn't going to last long, so he went and secured an insurance policy on him. What do you think of that? The old boy can have as many drinks as he wants and the saloonkeeper pays the premiums. When the poor fellow dies Bill is going to make a profit on his death. There's a keen business sense for you!"

All this was shocking to the transient. The regular customer departed, but the other remained, determined to make an investigation. He called to the barkeeper.

"Say," he called. "What is the name of that old wreck who was in here a few minutes ago?"

"His name?" said the man behind the apron, plainly puzzled. "How should I know his name?"

"Isn't he an old customer of yours?" demanded the visitor.

"I should say not," declared the barkeep. "It's the first time I ever saw him in my life, and I've lived in this neighborhood twenty-one years. I took pity on the old scout and poured him out one to send him along."

The drink mixer's air was convincing. The visitor departed brooding on the beautiful sermon that had been knocked to splinters.