“You are worse than that, Mack, because you are a man,” said David.
“Yes, I'm worse than a beast,” said Mack. He meant it. David, deep in his chair, his eyes on Mack's face, tapped his thumbs slowly together.
“Mack,” he asked, “just how much of a hold has this drink got on you!”
“Oh, I can stop any time I—”
“Yes, so can Doc Benedict,” said David. “He stops whenever he has had his periodical and his nerves stop their howling for the alcohol. I don't mean that, Mack. Just how insistent is the wish for the stuff, when you haven't had it for a while, if it makes you forget Amy as you did to-day!”
“Well, it is pretty insistent,” Mack admitted. “I don't mean to get the way I was this afternoon, dominie. Something starts me and I keep going.”
David's thumbs tapped more and more slowly.
“You still have the eyes of a man, Mack,” he said, “and you are still able to look me in the eyes like a man, Mack,” he said. “We ought to be able to beat this thing. Now go over and say good-night to Amy. She'll sleep better for seeing you as you are now.”
The next day David learned more, and so did 'Thusia. What David learned was that the two months that had elapsed between Mack's engagement spree and his next was the longest period the young fellow had been sober for some time, and that Mack had already been docketed in the minds of those who knew him best as a hard and reckless drinker. It meant the fight would be harder and longer than David had hoped. What 'Thusia learned was that Amy had had a long talk with Mack after he had left David.
“She did not tell him, David, but she told me, that she could not marry him if he let this happen. She can't marry a drunkard; no one would want her to; but if she throws him over he will be gone, David. She'll give him his chance, and she will help us—or let us help her—but when she is sure he is beyond help she will send him away. And when she sends him away—”