let myself in for a lovely task!

I stuck for a week--for two weeks--for three weeks. At the end of that
time my friends had grown accustomed to this idiosyncrasy and were
making bets on how long I would last. I didn't go round where they were
much. I was as lonesome as a stray dog in a strange alley. I had
carefully cultivated a large line of drinking acquaintances and I
hardly knew a congenial person who didn't drink. That was the hardest
part of the game. I wasn't fit company for man or beast. I don't blame
my friends--not a bit. I was cross and ugly and hypercritical and
generally nasty, and they passed me up. However, the craving for
liquor decreased to some degree. There were some periods in the day
when I didn't think how good a drink would taste, and did devote myself
to my work.

I discovered a few things. One was that, no matter how much fun I
missed in the evening, I didn't get up with a taste in my mouth. I had
no katzenjammers. After a week or so I went to sleep easily and slept
like a child. Then the caramel stage arrived. I acquired a sudden
craving for candy. I had not eaten any candy for years, for men who
drink regularly rarely take sweets. One day I looked in a
confectioner's window and was irresistibly attracted by a box of
caramels. I went in and bought it, and ate half a dozen. They seemed to
fill a long-felt want. The sugar in them supplied the stimulant that
was lacking, I suppose. Anyhow, they tasted right good and were
satisfactory; and I kept a box of caramels on my desk for several weeks
and ate a few each day. Also I began to yell for ice cream and pie and
other sweets with my meals.

Along about this time I developed the pharisaical stage. I looked with
a great pity on my friends who persisted in drinking. I assumed some
little airs of superiority and congratulated myself on my great
will-power that had enabled me to quit drinking. They were steadily
drinking themselves to death. I could see that plainly. There was
nothing else to it. I was a fine sample of a full-blown prig. I went so
far as to explain the case to one or two, and I got hooted at for my
pains; so I lapsed into my condition of immense superiority and said:
"Oh, well, if they won't take advice from me, who knows, let them go
along. Poor chaps, I am afraid they are lost!"

It's a wonder somebody didn't take an ax to me. I deserved it. After
lamenting--to myself--the sad fates of my former companions and pluming
myself on