“I funked it,” he said. “I got under the blanket, and tried to say my prayers under the blanket, but it wouldn’t work. Then I heard one man come into the room, then two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight. And the eighth man was the champion swearer of the company.”
“Boys,” said this man, “did you hear him?”
“Yes,” they said, “we heard him.”
And the little chap under the blanket said “Yes” too.
“Well, I shook hands with that man, and I promised him for my mother’s sake that I’d kneel down and say my prayers to-night.”
And the little chap under the blanket jumped up, blanket and all, and said, “So did I. I’m with you.”
And the others said, “So did we.”
“Well,” the last comer said, “the best thing we can do is to kneel down now and say a little prayer.”
So they all knelt down, and they each said a little prayer—I wish I had a record of those prayers—and they finished up with “Our Father.”
Then the champion swearer said, “Boys, I’ve cut it all out: no more drink—not another drop.”