I refused to take it seriously. It was in reality the most serious thing in the world; but that was inside. Outside it was a thing to josh, to laugh over, to stand chaffing about—I listened to interminable comments, all couched in the same form—but, nevertheless, a thing to be held to grimly and firmly. So I went along whenever I had a chance. After the ghosts ceased haunting and the desire had gone I found I could cheer up on skillfully absorbed mineral water. I am free to say that a good deal of the conversation I heard bored me a heap; but I did not let on. And the result has been that I am no longer forced to flock by myself, but can break into almost any company of good fellows and be as good a fellow as any of them, via the ginger-ale or mineral-water process of conviviality.
All the asses are not solidungulate quadrupeds—a good many of them belong to the genus homo. These are found in every center of population and are the boys who never cease wondering how it is that any man can or does do anything they themselves do not do, and continually comment thereon. Ordinarily when a man of my type quits drinking the fact is accepted after the probationary period has passed, and no further comment is made on it. Not so with the asinine contingent. They have the same patter to prattle unceasingly about it. They have the same comment, the same bromides to get off, the same sneers to sneer and the same jeers to jeer. If there was no other reason—and there are a hundred—why I shall not do any more drinking, I shall never taste another drop just to show these fools what fools they are when they run up against a real determination.
It took time to get into this water-cheerful stage—a good deal of time, a good deal of determination, a good deal of maneuvering; and it meant the overlooking of many things that did not appeal to me, as well as considerable charity on the part of the folks with whom I desired to remain friendly—more on their part than on mine, I am sure.
However, it has worked out reasonably well; and as I have tried it in New York, in Washington, in San Francisco and Boston, and in most cities between, in London and Paris and Berlin, and in other portions of the globe where I formerly performed under the other schedule, I think I am safe in saying that it can be done if one sets his mind to it—that is, a non-drinker need not necessarily be a hermit. Of course he can find plenty of non-drinkers with whom to associate if he makes the search; but, and it saddens me to say it, many of the non-drinking classes are not so interesting as they might be.
However, that is only one phase of it—an important phase, but not the only one. Doubtless it will seem erroneous to many persons, who have not been accustomed to the sort of relaxation that full-lived men take, to say this is important; and I freely admit that the highbrow basis is somewhat different from the highball basis.
I grant that seekers after conversation about dull and academic subjects may not find that conversation at a social gathering sought for relaxation after the day's work is over; but not all conversation of the kind most red-blooded and live men who do things crave consists of joining in barber-shop chords of: "How dry I am! How dry I am! Nobudee knows how dry I am!"