ut we are just that. Drunkenness is not a mere
matter of intoxicating liquors; it goes deeper--far deeper. Drunkenness
is the failure of a man to control his thoughts."

The bee-man sat silent, gazing out before him. I noted the blue veins in
the hand that lay on his knee. It came over me with sudden amusement
and I said:

"I often get drunk myself."

"You?"

"Yes--dreadfully drunk."

He looked at me and laughed--for the first time! And I laughed, too. Do
you know, there's a lot of human nature in people! And when you think
you are deep in tragedy, behold, humour lurks just around the corner!

"I used to laugh at it a good deal more than I do now," he said. "I've
been through it all. Sometimes when I go to town I say to myself, 'I
will not turn at that corner,' but when I come to the corner, I do turn.
Then I say 'I will not go into that bar,' but I do go in. 'I will not
order anything to drink,' I say to myself, and then I hear myself
talking aloud to the barkeeper just as though I were some other person.
'Give me a glass of rye,' I say, and I stand off looking at myself, very
angry and sorrowful. But gradually I seem to grow weaker and weaker--or
rather stronger and stronger--for my brain begins to become clear, and I
see things and feel things I never saw or felt before. I want to sing."

"And you do sing," I said.

"I do, indeed," he responded, laughing, "and it seems to me the most
beautiful music in the world."

"Sometimes," I said, "when I'm on _my_ kind of spree, I try not so much
to empty my mind of the thoughts which bother me, but rather to fill my
mind with other, stronger thoughts----"

Before I could finish he had interrupted:

"Haven't I tried that, too? Don't I think of other things? I think of
bees--and that leads me to honey, doesn't it? And that makes me think of
putting the honey in the wagon and taking it to town. Then, of course, I
think how it will sell. Instantly, stronger than you can imagine, I see
a dime in my hand. Then it appears on the wet bar. I _smell_ the _smell_
of the liquor. And there you are!"

We did not talk much more that day. We got up and shook hands and looked
each other in the eye. The bee-man turned away, but came back
hesitatingly.

"I am glad of this talk, Mr. Grayson. It makes me feel like taking hold
again. I have been in hell for years----"

"Of course," I said. "You needed a friend. You and I will come up
together."

As I walked toward home that even