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Jolly idea, isn't it?" Bleak was aghast at the temerity of the man. Bishop Chuff, the fanatical leader of the Anti-Everything League jocosely known as the Pan-Antis was the most feared man in America. It was he whose untiring organization had forced prohibition through the legislatures of forty States had closed the golf links on Sundays had made it a misdemeanor to be found laughing in public.
I became a militant for the Pan-Antis. I distributed tracts by the million; I wrote a little poem on the idea that the gates of hell are swinging doors with slats. I can honestly say that I never felt any real hankering for liquor until it was prohibited altogether. That is a curious feature of human nature, that as soon as you forbid a thing it becomes irresistibly alluring.
This terribly ingenious machine, which had just been invented by the pan-antis, records the vibrations of any alcoholic breath within five miles, and indicates on a sensitive dial the exact direction and distance of the breath. It was only too evident that the search for Quimbleton was going forward with fierce system.
Enraged beyond control by the perfidy of his daughter, he had sent out the armies of the Pan-Antis to wreak vengeance on every human enterprise that could be suspected of complicity in the matter of fermentation. Not only had the countryside been laid waste, but the printing press had been abolished and all publishing trades were now a thing of the past.
The asphalt streets grew soft under the twingeing feet of the Pan-Antis, and waves of heat radiation shimmered along the vista of the magnificent highway. The rousing strains rose in unison from thousands of earnest throats. The majesty of the song cannot be comprehended unless the reader will permit himself to hum to the familiar tune:
One hundred thousand pan-antis will parade on the Boulevard, with a hundred brass bands, led by the Bishop himself on his coal black horse. Do you know the purpose of the parade?" "In a general way," said Bleak, "I suppose it is to give publicity to the prohibition cause." "They have kept their malign scheme entirely secret," said Quimbleton. "You, as a newspaper man, should know it. Nonsense!
"This will break his heart!" "His neck too, I fancy," said one of the others, pointing to the sky, and indeed one of the three planes was seen falling tragically to earth behind the tower of the City Hall. The cloud of gas was rapidly drifting off down the Boulevard, and through the exhilarating and delicious fog the Pan-Antis waved their defiant banners unscathed.
I do it principally to annoy Bishop Chuff. You see, he lives next door." "Bishop Chuff of the Pan-Antis?" "Yes," said Quimbleton "but don't shout! His garden adjoins this. He has a periscope that overlooks my quarters. That's why I have to wear this disguise in the garden. I think he's getting a bit suspicious. I manage to cause him a good deal of suffering with the fizz fumes from my garden.
While it ferments, please continue to skim: At the end, you may murmur the Bartender's Hymn. This makes a booze that is potent enough Seal in a hogshead and hide it from Chuff! Corporation for the Perpetuation of Happiness. The Pan-Antis were still muttering furiously over this daring act of defiance when a shrill bugle-call pealed down the avenue.
Two reporters were busy with paper and pencil; the cartoonist sat on the cornice, with legs swinging above two hundred feet of space, sketching the prodigious scene. It was an awe-inspiring spectacle. Between sidewalks jammed with silent and morose citizens, the Pan-Antis passed like a conquering army.
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