He is the enemy of life, and the teacher of wisdom beyond life’s wisdom. His way leads to truth naked, and to death. He is also in league with the Noseless One. He is the august companion with whom one walks with the gods. I am never less his friend than when he is with me and when I seem most his friend. “But I thought you were a friend to John Barleycorn,” Charmian interpolated. “It is the wives, and sisters, and mothers, and they only, who will drive the nails into the coffin of John Barleycorn-“ “When the women get the ballot, they will vote for prohibition,” I said.

The horse I had ridden was well named “The Outlaw.” I’d like to see any drunken man ride her.)Īnd yet–how shall I say?–I was lighted up, I was feeling “good,” I was pleasantly jingled. The more I answered, the more indignant I became. “Now just why did you vote for it?” Charmian asked. In my later and more tolerant years I had been unenthusiastic in my acceptance of it as an inevitable social phenomenon. For, be it known, in my younger days, despite my ardent democracy, I had been opposed to woman suffrage.

“How did you vote on the suffrage amendment?” Charmian asked. Then I had ridden up through the vine-clad hills and rolling pastures of the ranch, and arrived at the farm-house in time for another drink and supper. Because of the warmth of the day I had had several drinks before casting my ballot, and divers drinks after casting it. It was on a warm California afternoon, and I had ridden down into the Valley of the Moon from the ranch to the little village to vote Yes and No to a host of proposed amendments to the Constitution of the State of California.

John barleycorn book