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When Mr. Eldridge came home at dinner-time, his wife said to him,–

“You needn’t order any liquors from Snyder.”

“Why not?” Mr. Eldridge looked at his wife with some surprise.

“I’m going to have coffee, instead of wine, and brandy,” said Mrs. Eldridge, speaking firmly.

“Nonsense!” You’re jesting.”

“No, I’m in earnest. These liquors are not only expensive, but dangerous things to offer freely in mixed companies. Many boys get their first taste for drink at fashionable parties, and many reformed men have the old fiery thirst revived by a glass of wine poured out for them in social hospitality. I am afraid to have my conscience burdened with the responsibility which this involves.”

“There is no question as to the injury that is done by this free pouring out of liquors at our fashionable entertainments. I’ve long enough seen that,” said Mr. Eldridge; “but she will be a bold lady who ventures to offer a cup of coffee in place of a glass of wine. You had better think twice on this subject before you act once.”

“I’ve done little else I but think about it for the last two hours, and the more I think about it the more settled my purpose becomes.”

“But what put this thing into your head?” inquired Mr. Eldridge. “You were in full sail for party this morning, liquor and all; this sudden tacking for a new course is a little surprising. I’m puzzled.”

“Your son put it into my head,” replied Mrs. Eldridge.

“Henry? Well, that boy does beat all!” Mr. Eldridge did not speak with disapprobation, but with a tone of pleasure in his voice. “And so he proposed that we should have coffee instead of wine and brandy?”

“Yes.”

“Bravo for Henry! I like that. But what will people say, my dear? I don’t want to become a laughing stock.”

“I’d rather have other people laugh at me for doing right,” said Mrs. Eldridge, “than to have my conscience blame me for doing wrong.”

“Must we give the party?” asked Mr. Eldridge, who did not feel much inclined to brave public opinion.

“I don’t see that we can well avoid doing so. Parties will be given, and as Fanny is our niece, it will look like a slight towards her if we hold back. No, she must have a party; and as I am resolved to exclude liquor, we must come in first. Who knows but all the rest may follow our example.”

“Don’t flatter yourself on any such result. We shall stand alone, you may depend upon it.”

The evening of the party came and a large company assembled at the house of Mr. and Mrs. Eldridge. At eleven o’clock they passed to the supper-room. On this time the thoughts of the host and hostess had passed, ever and anon, during the whole evening, and not without many misgivings as to the effect their entertainment would produce on the minds of the company. Mr. Eldridge was particularly nervous on the subject. There were several gentlemen present whom he knew to be lovers of good wine; gentlemen at whose houses he had often been entertained, and never without the exhilarating glass. How would they feel? What would they think? What would they say? These questions fairly haunted him; and he regretted, over and over again, that he had yielded to his wife and excluded the liquors.

But there was no holding back now; the die was cast, and they must stand to the issue. Mr. Eldridge tried to speak pleasantly to the lady on his arm, as he ascended to the supper-room; but the words came heavily from his tongue, for his heart was dying in him. Soon the company were around the table, and eyes, critical in such matters, taking hurried inventories of what it contained. Setting aside the wine and brandy, the entertainment was of the most liberal character, and the whole arrangement extremely elegant. At each end of the table stood a large coffee-urn, surrounded with cups, the meaning of which was not long a mystery to the company. After the terrapin, oysters, salad, and their accompaniments, Mr. Eldridge said to a lady, in a half-hesitating voice, as if he were almost ashamed to ask the question,–