, and he would
look at the dekanter like he would give his daylights to choke the corn
juice out of it. I read along slowly. Old Alford was a listnin' and
chawin' his tobakker and spittin' out of the door. Bill come up to me,
his face red and twitchin', and leanin' over my shoulder he seed the
length of the story, and I will never forgit his pitiful tone as he
whispered, "Skip some, Bill, for heaven's sake skip some."

My heart relented, and I did skip some, and hurried through, and we all
jined in a drink; but I'll never forgit how Bill looked when he
whispered to me to "skip some, Bill, skip some." I've got over the like
of that, boys, and I hope Bill has, too, but I don't know. I wish in my
soul that everybody had quit it, for you may talk about slavery, and
penitentiary, and chain-gangs, and the Yankees, and General Grant, and a
devil of a wife, but whiskey is the worst master that ever a man had
over him. I know how it is myself.

But there is one good thing about drinkin'. I almost wish every man was
a reformed drunkard. No man who hasn't drank liker knows what a luxury
cold water is. I have got up in the night in cold wether after I had
been spreein' around, and gone to the well burnin' up with thirst,
feeling like the gallows, and the grave, and the infernal regions was
too good for me, and when I took up the bucket in my hands, and with my
elbows a tremblin' like I had the shakin' ager, put the water to my
lips; it was the most delicious, satisfyin', luxurius draft that ever
went down my throat. I have stood there and drank and drank until I
could drink no more, and gone back to bed thankin' God for the pure,
innocent, and coolin' beverig, and cursin' myself from my inmost soul
for ever touchin' the accursed whisky. In my torture of mind and body I
have made vows and promises, and broken 'em within a day. But if you
want to know the luxury of cold water, get drunk, and keep at it until
you get on fire, and then try a bucket full with your shirt on at the
well in the middle of the night. You won't want a gourd full--you'll
feel like the bucket ain't big enuf, and when you begin to drink an
earthquake couldn't stop you. My fathers, how good it was! I know a
hundred men who will swear to the truth of what I say: but you see its a
thing they don't like to talk about. It's too humiliatin'.

But I dident start to talk about drinkin'. In fact, I've forgot what I
did start to tell you. My mind is sorter addled now a