PROHIBITION, BEING a phenomenon, has inevitably bred other phenomena. The most ardent fighters for a dry United States are the Prohibitionists themselves—and the bootleggers. A new industry, which flourishes every day, despite the honest attempts of the Government to suppress it, has arisen. It brings in a fat profit to those who enter it. An incredible army of active workers is marching—or rather driving in motor-cars—through the land, doing a prosperous business. They do not deposit their earnings in our banks; for if they did so, the federal authorities could force them to pay an income tax. Instead, they put them in the proverbial stocking; and after a sufficient number of bank-notes—for it is usually a cash business that is carried on—are available many of the bootleggers, who are mostly foreigners, sail for parts unknown. There they intend to spend the rest of their days in peace and comfort and opulence. Why not?  
I am writing of the evils of bootlegging not only as they apply to a great city like New York. In a certain western city of some 250,000 inhabitants—a city in a State which went dry long before the constitutional130 amendment—a woman told me that all she had to do was to ring up her favorite bootlegger when she was giving a dinner-party, and practically anything she desired would be delivered at her door within fifteen minutes. It is very difficult to get evidence against these diligent business men, and I have encountered only a few people who have conscientious scruples about dealing with them. It is hard to be consistent concerning Volsteadism. If the Act itself plays merry pranks on sea and shore, why should not human beings likewise forget their dignity once in a while?
The bootlegging evil has begotten another evil. Graft is stalking through the land, hand in hand with it. They are boon companions. They are inseparable. Where one is, there you will always find the other. Brothers in sin; Siamese twins. Damon and Pythias, Ruth and Naomi, were not more devoted. But their unholy alliance has none of the virtues of those ardent and ancient friendships.
There is always, in any illicit transaction, a man higher up who must reap his share of the illegal profits. Usually, the American public rebels at the middleman, resents his grasping proclivities; but nowadays, being humanly thirsty, it has no time to quibble; and so long as it gets its modicum of spirits, it has little fault to find with the humanly fallible protector of the bootlegger who must receive some attention. It is willing to pay almost anything for whiskey or gin, and, used to being “done,” it good-naturedly131 recognizes the authorities along the way who are in a position to open stores of the desired stuff, and see that it is delivered to the crowding bootleggers. It is an endless chain; and to become wealthy overnight has always been the dream of the average American. With Prohibition, he sees an opportunity such as never existed before, and thousands are taking advantage of the situation.
When one considers the amount of revenue which formerly poured into the coffers of the United States treasury because of the tax on alcohol, and what the loss of that money must mean today to the Government, one realizes that in some manner the deficit must be made up. The good old genial public is again the goat, to fall into the vernacular. Prices have risen since the passing of the Eighteenth Amendment. Hotel proprietors, who formerly counted upon a considerable income through their bars, now find themselves forced to charge higher prices for food. Time was when, if one failed to order wine with one’s meals, an extra twenty-five cents was asked. It was taken for granted that red or white wine was a part of one’s ration, as it were; and those who failed to indulge in the luxury were looked upon as rather curious specimens of humanity. A table d’h?te, with vin rouge, was the regular thing; and the wine was included in the price of the dinner. With the going out of all forms of drinks, naturally there had to be a readjustment of menu-cards. There is a tax now almost everywhere132 for bread and butter; and a cover charge is made in practically all the metropolitan restaurants. Gradually, one notes, these “extras” are creeping in. One cannot blame the hotel-keepers. Rents and wages have increased since the War; therefore they must ask more for their rooms, as well as for their dining-room service. And where one formerly tipped in moderation, the average waiter scorns anything less than fifteen or twenty per cent of the amount of one’s check. The good-natured and long-suffering American people are imposed upon at every turn. And, denied the privilege of consuming liquor openly, they give dinners in their homes, where at least there can be a semblance of harmless gayety. This causes fewer people to go to the smart restaurants in a city like New York; and generally there is no supper crowd at all. Lights are dimmed early; and while I am holding no brief for late hours, I do think that human beings should be permitted to organize their own lives, and decide for themselves whether a supper-dance after the theater or the Opera is harmful. At luncheon time the hotels present another aspect. They still do a thriving business; but, as I have said in a previous chapter, for many and many a year there had been little drinking in the middle of the day.
With fewer people to serve, and fewer meals to serve, hotel men have been driven to ask more for that service which they continue to render. The one bright thought in this painful readjustment is the fact133 that the Prohibitionists must help the rest of us to make up the loss of revenue. Their checks, hitherto much less than ours, are now quite the same. But, then, I imagine few of them have ever cared for brilliant lights and smart napery, preferring to dine in the dim sanctity of basements and back rooms at an hour so early that daylight has hardly gone when the “supper bell” rings. The color and joy of the Ritz or the Plaza would scarcely appeal to a fanatic.
But to get back to the bootleggers. There are many degrees of them. Some are honest; others are not. Once in a while a gin bottle will contain nothing but water; and sometimes whiskey will have been diluted, and near-beer sold as the regular thing. Yet with an established trade, and recognized business, conditions are improving. Ev............