of course. But I notice that Gilbert Murray doesn't accept the old theory that Euripides recanted and went back to the ancestral gods."
"Well," replied Willys, "in that case, I think Gilbert Murray is wrong—who is this Gilbert Murray? I've got the play here—in my overcoat pocket—somebody or other's translation, of course. You take it with you, Professor, when you go. Read it again and tell me if you don't think I'm right."
I had to laugh; and then we both explained how we happened to be reading, or reading about, the Bacchae. Then Willys returned to his argument.
"When I read this play, you know, it hit me in the eye that this thing is as old as history. This prohibition idiocy is as old as the race. If drinking could be rooted out, it would have been rooted out long ago. All the arguments against it were cheesy in the days of Noah. It sticks because, as His Excellency and I are pointing out, it is rooted in necessity. You reformers, as you call yourselves, don't know what you are about. You've bit off what can't be chewed. You are attacking religion; and it's dangerous business. You are trying to kill a god, and it can't be done."
"But my dear Mr. Willys," cried Cornelia,
