renuous, so unsafe and unsane, so ultra-revolutionary,
that I retarded the socialist development in the United States by five
years. In passing, I wish to remark, at this late date, that it is my
fond belief that I accelerated the socialist development in the United
States by at least five minutes.

It was the PEOPLE, and no thanks to John Barleycorn, who pulled me
through my long sickness. And when I was convalescent came the love of
woman to complete the cure and lull my pessimism asleep for many a long
day, until John Barleycorn again awoke it. But in the meantime, I
pursued Truth less relentlessly, refraining from tearing her last veils
aside even when I clutched them in my hand. I no longer cared to look
upon Truth naked. I refused to permit myself to see a second time what I
had once seen. And the memory of what I had that time seen I resolutely
blotted from my mind.

And I was very happy. Life went well with me, I took delight in little
things. The big things I declined to take too seriously. I still read
the books, but not with the old eagerness. I still read the books
to-day, but never again shall I read them with that old glory of youthful
passion when I harked to the call from over and beyond that whispered me
on to win to the mystery at the back of life and behind the stars.

The point of this chapter is that, in the long sickness that at some time
comes to most of us, I came through without any appeal for aid to John
Barleycorn. Love, socialism, the PEOPLE--healthful figments of man's
mind--were the things that cured and saved me. If ever a man was not a
born alcoholic, I believe that I am that man. And yet--well, let the
succeeding chapters tell their tale, for in them will be shown how I paid
for my previous quarter of a century of contact with ever-accessible John
Barleycorn.

CHAPTER XXIX

After my long sickness my drinking continued to be convivial. I drank
when others drank and I was with them. But, imperceptibly, my need for
alcohol took form and began to grow. It was not a body need. I boxed,
swam, sailed, rode horses, lived in the open an arrantly healthful life,
and passed life insurance examinations with flying colours. In its
inception, now that I look back upon it, this need for alcohol was a
mental need, a nerve need, a good-spirits need. How can I explain?

It was something like this. Physiologically, from the standpoint of
palate and stomach, alcohol was, as