It all
        came to me
               one election day.

    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.

    Because of the warmth
           of the day
         I had had several drinks
           before casting my ballot,
           and divers drinks
              after casting it.

    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.

    "How did you vote
           on the suffrage amendment?"

    Charmian asked.

    "I voted for it."

    She uttered
           an exclamation of surprise.

    For,
           be it known,
         in my younger days,
           despite my ardent democracy,
         I had been opposed
               to woman suffrage.

    In my later
           and more tolerant years
         I had been unenthusiastic
               in my acceptance of it
             as an inevitable social phenomenon.

    "Now just
         why did you vote
               for it?"

    Charmian asked.

    I answered.

    I answered at length.

    I answered indignantly.

    The more I answered,
           the more indignant I became.

    (No; I was not drunk.

    The horse
         I had ridden
            was well named
         "The Outlaw."

    I'd like
          to see
               any drunken man ride her.)

    And yet
          --how shall I say?

    --I
        was lighted up,
           I was feeling "good,"
             I was pleasantly jingled.

    "When the women
          get the ballot,
           they will
              vote for prohibition," I said.

    "It is the wives,
           and sisters,
         and mothers,
           and they only,
         who will
              drive the nails
                   into the coffin
                       of John Barleycorn
          ----"

    "But I thought you
        were a friend
            to John Barleycorn," Charmian
                        interpolated.

    "I am.

    I was.

    I am not.

    I never am.

    I am
          never less his friend than
         when he
            is with me and
         when I
              seem most his friend.

    He is
           the king of liars.

    He is the frankest truthsayer.

    He is the august companion
         with whom one walks
               with the gods.

    He is also
           in league
         with the Noseless One.

    His way leads
           to truth naked,
         and to death.

    He gives clear vision,
           and muddy dreams.

    He is the enemy
           of life,
         and the teacher of wisdom
               beyond life's wisdom.

    He is a red-handed killer,
           and he slays youth."

    And Charmian looked at me,
           and I knew she wondered
             where I had got it.

    I continued to talk.

    As I say,
           I was lighted up.

    In my brain every thought
        was at home.

    Every thought,
           in its little cell,
         crouched ready-dressed at the door,
           like prisoners
               at midnight a jail-break.

    And every thought
        was a vision,
           bright-imaged,
         sharp-cut,
           unmistakable.

    My brain
        was illuminated by the clear,
           white light of alcohol.

    John Barleycorn
        was on a truth-telling rampage,
           giving away
               the choicest secrets on himself.

    And I was his spokesman.

    There moved the multitudes
           of memories of my
         past life,