THE CRIME.
When a man acquires the habit of indulging in strong drink, it requires a will of iron to break it. Few men have the physical and moral fortitude to offer the necessary resistance. The intense, consuming thirst paralyzes the mental energies. The wretched victim will risk life itself to gratify his raging appetite. Poor Comston had not descended to such a depth of moral degradation that he had no disposition to free himself from the shackles of his terrible foe. In his sober moments he most earnestly wished that he could free himself from the vicious demon which clung to him with the tenacity of Sinbad’s Old Man of the Sea. But the saloon was like a load-stone—a cynosure which drew Comston with an attraction that he had not the moral nerve to resist. When the appetite was upon him, it seemed impossible to pass the open door. The fragrance of the wines, issuing from the interior of the dram-shop, acted upon his senses with all the force of the law of gravitation, and he went in almost in the same way that a stone falls to the earth when it is thrown up into the air.
Comston woke up early the next morning from the stupor into which Ernest’s substitute had thrown him. He felt that he was burning up. His terrible appetite made him forget, or ignore his promises to the preacher. What cared he for reformation, when he believed himself dying—dying for the want of brandy. In spite of the entreaties of his wife, he put on his hat, to go to town.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“O, just to town a little while—that’s all.”
“But you promised Mr. Edgefield that you would not go. Come back.”
“I’ll be back in a few moments.”
And off he rushed, determined to have a dram if he should have to sell his very clothing. While he is walking along rapidly, let us secretly and silently enter the saloon to which he is hastening. We see two men in the room, and they are engaged in a bitter quarrel. Presently the man, who is partially under the influence of ardent spirits, springs toward the saloon-keeper, exclaiming: