to be tuned up by the very
poison that caused the damage.)

There is no end to John Barleycorn's tricks. He had tried to inveigle me
into killing myself. At this period he was doing his best to kill me at
a fairly rapid pace. But, not satisfied with that, he tried another
dodge. He very nearly got me, too, and right there I learned a lesson
about him--became a wiser, a more skilful drinker. I learned there were
limits to my gorgeous constitution, and that there were no limits to John
Barleycorn. I learned that in a short hour or two he could master my
strong head, my broad shoulders and deep chest, put me on my back, and
with a devil's grip on my throat proceed to choke the life out of me.

Nelson and I were sitting in the Overland House. It was early in the
evening, and the only reason we were there was because we were broke and
it was election time. You see, in election time local politicians,
aspirants for office, have a way of making the rounds of the saloons to
get votes. One is sitting at a table, in a dry condition, wondering who
is going to turn up and buy him a drink, or if his credit is good at some
other saloon and if it's worth while to walk that far to find out, when
suddenly the saloon doors swing wide, and enters a bevy of well-dressed
men, themselves usually wide and exhaling an atmosphere of prosperity and
fellowship.

They have smiles and greetings for everybody--for you, without the price
of a glass of beer in your pocket, for the timid hobo who lurks in the
corner and who certainly hasn't a vote, but who may establish a
lodging-house registration. And do you know, when these politicians
swing wide the doors and come in, with their broad shoulders, their deep
chests, and their generous stomachs which cannot help making them
optimists and masters of life, why, you perk right up. It's going to be
a warm evening after all, and you know you'll get a souse started at the
very least.

And--who knows?--the gods may be kind, other drinks may come, and the
night culminate in glorious greatness. And the next thing you know, you
are lined up at the bar, pouring drinks down your throat and learning the
gentlemen's names and the offices which they hope to fill.

It was during this period, when the politicians went their saloon rounds,
that I was getting bitter bits of education and having illusions
punctured--I, who had pored and thrilled over "The Rail-Splitter," and
"From Canal Boy to President