During this period I saw the
President sitting on the veranda of the White House; I had opportunities
of honouring Prohibition in the breach as well as in the observance; and
these eyes were everlastingly cheered and enriched by the spectacle of
the "Babe" (who is a baseball divinity) lifting a ball over the Polo
Ground pavilion into Manhattan Field. I hold, then, that I cannot be
said to have been unlucky or to have wasted my time.
I found (this was in the spring of 1920) Prohibition the universal
topic: could it last, and should it last? In England we are accused of
talking always of the weather. In America, where there is no weather,
nothing but climate, that theme probably was never popular. Even if it
once were, however, it had given way to Prohibition. At every lunch or
dinner table at which I was present Prohibition was a topic. And how
could it be otherwise?--for if my host was a "dry" man, he had to begin
by apologising for having nothing cheering to offer, and if he possessed
a cellar it was impossible not to open the ball by congratulating him on
his luck and his generosity. Meanwhile the guests were comparing notes
as to the best substitutes for alcoholic beverages, exchanging recipes,
or describing their adventures with private stills.
I visited a young couple in a charming little cottage in one of the
garden cities near New York, and found them equally divided in their
solicitude over a baby on the top floor and a huge jar in the basement
which needed constant skimming if the beer was to be worth drinking.
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