ght it out. It took very little time. Jim had made a
mistake--a serious one. This was no simple teamster, guileless of
training, who faced him, but a man whose life was in the outer circle of
the prize ring. The thrashing was complete, and effective for several
weeks. Jim was carried home and ever after he bore upon his chin a scar
that was the record of the final knockout from the teamster's iron fist.

The catastrophe had several important compensations. The owner of the
Dummer House decided that the boy was punished enough, and took no legal
proceeding against him. On his part, Jim began to think much more
seriously before giving reckless rein to his sense of humour. On the
whole, his respect for the rights of others was decidedly increased. His
self-esteem shrunk to more normal proportions and if he thought of the
incident at all it was to wish very earnestly that some day, somewhere,
he might meet the teamster again on more even terms.

Unfortunately these salutory results were negatived some six months
later by an event that took place in Downey's bar. It was Jim's
birthday; he was eighteen and he announced it with pride.

"And here's where ye join us," said several.

"No, I don't care about it," said Jim.

"Ye ain't promise bound now, are ye?"

"No," replied Jim, "but----"

"Make him a sweet one with syrup and just a spoonful of the crather to
take the curse off."

Refusing, protesting, half ashamed of his hesitation, Jim downed at a
gulp a fruity concoction, much to the delight of the assemblage. It was
not so bad as he had expected it to be and the crowd roared at the
expression on his face.

"Ye're a man for yourself now, lad," said a woodsman clapping him on the
shoulder. "Come boys, another round to Hartigan's health."

It could not be said of Jim that he was normal in anything. In a rare
and multiplied degree he had inherited the full muscling and robust
heart of his folk in both lines of forbears. It was a great inheritance,
but it carried its own penalty. The big animal physique holds a craving
for strong drink. Physical strength and buoyancy are bound up with the
love of bacchanalian riot. Jim had given his word to abstain from liquor
until he was of age; he had kept it scrupulously. Now he had tasted of
it the pendulum swung full to the other side. That was his nature. His
world might be a high world or a low world; whichever sphere he moved in
he practised no half-way measures.

From that