“I don’t mind telling you, fellows, that I’ve tried almost everything. Opium works nicely in a way, but it seems to interest you rather too much in other people. Their pleasures become your pleasures. The most trivial things are sufficient to amuse you. You watch a laborer and his wife marketing on a Saturday night, and somehow it is better than the finest theatrical performance you have ever witnessed. Your heart goes out to those humble people, and you accept them as kin to you, blood relatives as it were. A child playing with a top fills you with unspeakable satisfaction and sympathy. A dove building its nest may chain your attention for hours. Through such trivial things you are made supremely content and satisfied.
“Other drugs with which I have experimented produce different effects, but they all bring about a relapse in time, and you suffer the most horrible tortures as retaliation for the pleasures that have been yours. With absinthe I have not yet reached the point where it retaliates and inflicts torments. It has helped me shake off the grip opium had upon me. I prefer absinthe to opium.”
“It’s simply a case of taking one poison as an antidote for another,” said Ditson. “The time will come, Du Boise, when you’ll find your blood entirely eaten up by the poisons you have absorbed.”
“And by your looks,” said Lynch, “I should say that is not very far away. Never knew a chap to change the way you have in the past four months. It’s a wonder to me that you’ve managed to stick in college this long. Don’t you realize what is coming to you? Can’t you see your finish?”
“I think I did realize it in time to escape,” said Hal. “I began experimenting with opium for amusement. I wanted to experience the effect. I had no idea of letting the stuff get a hold on me, but when I found it had I fled to absinthe, and absinthe has proved my salvation.”
“It will prove your destruction,” declared Duncan. “You’re its slave to-day, and you’ll never break away from it. Here are our drinks.”
In the wall a sliding panel shot back, and through the opening could be seen the face of the waiter who had brought the drinks. He pushed in a tray, which Lynch received. The drinks were removed from the tray and placed on the table. Du Boise tossed some money on the tray, which was then passed back through the opening. The sliding panel closed softly, and they were again alone.
“Here’s to forgetfulness,” said Du Boise, lifting the glass, which was filled with fine cracked ice and a greenish-amber liquid. “Here’s to forgetfulness, but I fear you’ll not find it in the stuff you are drinking.”
Ditson’s hand shook a bit as he lifted his glass of whisky and literally tossed it down his throat. Du Boise sipped softly at the absinthe. In a moment a dreamy light seemed creeping into his faded eyes. Before long a bit of color mounted into his cheeks.
“Why should we worry about anything in this world or the next, my friends?” he murmured. “Let’s have another drink. I need just one more.”