A Wodehouse Miscellany | Page 4

me for the coming week.
I get up on Monday morning feeling like a lion. The reason I selected Bodfish this week,
though I was practically engaged to a man named Stevenson who lives out in Connecticut,
was that I felt rundown and needed a real rest. I shall be all right on Monday."
"And so shall I," I said, sinking into the chair beside him.
"You're not going to the country?" he asked regretfully.
"I am not. I, too, need a tonic. I shall join you at Bodfish's. I really feel a lot better
already."
I closed my eyes, and relaxed, and a great peace settled upon me.

MY BATTLE WITH DRINK
I could tell my story in two words--the two words "I drank." But I was not always a
drinker. This is the story of my downfall--and of my rise--for through the influence of a
good woman, I have, thank Heaven, risen from the depths.
The thing stole upon me gradually, as it does upon so many young men. As a boy, I
remember taking a glass of root beer, but it did not grip me then. I can recall that I even
disliked the taste. I was a young man before temptation really came upon me. My
downfall began when I joined the Yonkers Shorthand and Typewriting College.
It was then that I first made acquaintance with the awful power of ridicule. They were a
hard-living set at college--reckless youths. They frequented movie palaces. They thought
nothing of winding up an evening with a couple of egg-phosphates and a chocolate fudge.
They laughed at me when I refused to join them. I was only twenty. My character was
undeveloped. I could not endure their scorn. The next time I was offered a drink I
accepted. They were pleased, I remember. They called me "Good old Plum!" and a good
sport and other complimentary names. I was intoxicated with sudden popularity.
How vividly I can recall that day! The shining counter, the placards advertising strange
mixtures with ice cream as their basis, the busy men behind the counter, the half-cynical,
half-pitying eyes of the girl in the cage where you bought the soda checks. She had seen

so many happy, healthy boys through that little hole in the wire netting, so many
thoughtless boys all eager for their first soda, clamoring to set their foot on the primrose
path that leads to destruction.
It was an apple marshmallow sundae, I recollect. I dug my spoon into it with an
assumption of gaiety which I was far from feeling. The first mouthful almost nauseated
me. It was like cold hair-oil. But I stuck to it. I could not break down now. I could not
bear to forfeit the newly-won esteem of my comrades. They were gulping their sundaes
down with the speed and enjoyment of old hands. I set my teeth, and persevered, and by
degrees a strange exhilaration began to steal over me. I felt that I had burnt my boats and
bridges; that I had crossed the Rubicon. I was reckless. I ordered another round. I was the
life and soul of that party.
The next morning brought remorse. I did not feel well. I had pains, physical and mental.
But I could not go back now. I was too weak to dispense with my popularity. I was only a
boy, and on the previous evening the captain of the Checkers Club, to whom I looked up
with an almost worshipping reverence, had slapped me on the back and told me that I was
a corker. I felt that nothing could be excessive payment for such an honor. That night I
gave a party at which orange phosphate flowed like water. It was the turning point.
I had got the habit!
I will pass briefly over the next few years. I continued to sink deeper and deeper into the
slough. I knew all the drugstore clerks in New York by their first names, and they called
me by mine. I no longer even had to specify the abomination I desired. I simply handed
the man my ten cent check and said: "The usual, Jimmy," and he understood.
At first, considerations of health did not trouble me. I was young and strong, and my
constitution quickly threw off the effects of my dissipation. Then, gradually, I began to
feel worse. I was losing my grip. I found a difficulty in concentrating my attention on my
work. I had dizzy spells. I became nervous and distrait. Eventually I went to a doctor. He
examined me thoroughly, and shook his head.
"If I am to do you any good," he said, "you must tell me all. You must hold no secrets
from me."
"Doctor," I said, covering my face with