Dave Ranney | Page 9

lately, and to
tell the truth I didn't care so much about meeting him. I am not
superstitious by any means, but I really thought he was my Jonah. We
talked a while, and we promised to meet and go home together. Like a
foolish boy, I met him that night and many a time after.
TOUCH NOT, TASTE NOT
Mike was just learning to play pool, and one evening we had to go in
and play a game. That night I had the first glass of beer I ever took in a
saloon. Mike was getting to be quite a tippler, and he said, "Let's have a
drink." I said I didn't want any, and I didn't. But he said--I really think
the Devil was using Mike to make me drink--"Oh, be a man! One glass
won't hurt you; it will do you good." And he talked to me about
mother's apron-strings, and finally I took my first drink outside of what
I drank when grandfather used to send me for beer.
Do you know, as I stood there before the bar, with that beer in my hand,

I heard a voice just as plain as I ever heard anything, saying, "Don't
take that stuff; it's no good, and will bring you to shame and misery. It
will spoil your future, and you will never become the great merchant
you started out to be. Put it down and don't drink it." That was
twenty-five years ago, and many a time I have heard that voice since.
How I wish now that I had listened to that voice and never taken that
first drink! It is not the second or the one hundred and second drink that
makes a man a drunkard, but the first.
I started to put the glass down, and with that Mike began to laugh, and
his laugh brought the other fellows around. Of course Mike told them I
was a milk-and-water boy. I could not stand it to be laughed at, so I put
the glass of beer to my lips, swallowed it, and never made a face about
it. Then the fellows said, "You're all right! You are initiated now and
you're a man!"
I didn't feel very much like a man. I felt as though I was some fellow
without a single spark of manhood in my whole make-up. I thought of
mother; what would she say if she knew I had broken my promise to
her? I had promised her when father died never to take a drink in all my
life. I knelt at her dear side, with her hands upon my head, and she
prayed that God would bless her boy and keep him from drink. I had
honestly intended to keep that promise, but you see how the Devil
popped in and once more made me do what I knew was wrong--drink
that first cursed glass of beer.
I went home, walking all the way, and trying to get the smell out of my
mouth. I could not face my dear mother, so I went to my room without
supper. I thought that all she had to do was to look in my face and she
would know that I had broken my promise, and I was ashamed. She
came up later and asked me what was the matter, and I said I had a
headache. If I had had the courage to tell her then, things might have
been different! She brought me a cup of tea and bade me good-night.
The next night the Devil steered me into the same saloon. I drank again
and again, till finally I could drink as much as any man, and it would
take a good deal to knock me out.

I was still working for the merchant on Broadway, and my prospects
were of the brightest. They all liked me and gave me a raise in salary,
so I was now getting five dollars a week. But, you see, I was spending
money on pool and drink, and five dollars didn't go so very far, so I
began to steal. I had charge of the stamps--the firm used a great
many---and I had the mailing of all the letters. I would take out fifty
cents from the money and balance the account by letters mailed. I
began in a small way, and the Devil in me said, "How easy! You're all
right." So I went on until I was stealing on an average of $1.50 per day.
I still kept on drinking and playing cards. I had by this time blossomed
out as quite a poker player and could do as many tricks as the best of
them. I used to stay out quite late, and would tell mother that I was