out and went up there and let that iron-fisted Irishman slam me
around, that I'd come out all right. And the first little baby-drink I
hit began the whole thing again!"

"Why did you take it? You didn't have to."

"I wanted it," retorted Quest angrily.

"Not badly enough to make self-control impossible. That's what you went
up there for, to get back self-control. You got it but didn't use it. Do
you think there is any sort of magic serum Mulqueen or I or anybody
under Heaven can pump into you that will render you immune from the
consequences of making an alcohol sewer of yourself?"

"I certainly supposed I could come out and drink like a gentleman," said
the young man sullenly.

"Drink like a--_what_? A gentleman? What's that? What's drinking like a
gentleman? I don't know what it is. You either drink alcohol or you
don't; you either swill it or you don't. Anybody can do either. I'm not
aware that either is peculiar to a gentleman. But I know that both are
peculiar to fools."

Quest muttered, picking his fingers, and cast an ugly side look at the
physician.

"I don't know what you just said," snapped Dr. Bailey, "but I'll tell
you this: alcohol is poison and it has not--and never had--in any guise
whatever, the slightest compensating value for internal use. It isn't a
food; it's a poison; it isn't a beneficial stimulant; it's a poison; it
isn't an aid to digestion; it's a poison; it isn't a life saver; it's a
life taker. It's a parasite, forger, thief, pander, liar, brutalizer,
murderer!

"Those are the plain facts. There isn't, and there never has been, one
word to say for it or any excuse, except morbid predisposition or
self-inculcated inclination, to offer for swallowing it. Now go to your
brewers, your wine merchants, your champagne touts, your fool
undergraduates, your clubmen, your guzzling viveurs--and they'll all
tell you the contrary. So will some physicians. And you can take your
choice. Any ass can. That is all, my boy."

The young man glowered sulkily at the prescription.

"Do I understand that this will stop the jumps?"

"If you really believe that, you have never heard me say so," snapped
Dr. Bailey.

"Well, what the devil will it do?"

"The directions are there. You have my memorandum of the regime you are
to follow. It will quiet you till you get to Mulqueen's. Those two bits
of paper, however, are useless unless you help yourself. If you want to
become convalescent you can--even yet.