“Well, two more days and we’ll see land,” said McCall, as he hopped into bed. “Just think, one more night after this, then home again! No more reveille. No more trenches. No more slumgullion. No more rain. Whee! We really ought to get drunk!” Hamilton agreed and slowly prepared for bed.
XII
There was much drinking the next night, Hamilton acquitting himself like a gentleman—that is, imbibing large quantities without perceptible effect—and McCall like a zealot.
“Ought to get drunk. Ought to get drunk.” McCall kept repeating. “Last chance on the bounding, boundless Atlantic.”
McCall went on explaining his philosophy of intoxication between swallows.
“This is occasion that demands intoxication,” he said. “Demands intoxication, like poet demands fine frenzy with his eye rolling between heaven and earth and hell, or something.
“When you’re not drunk, Hamilton, you’re bundled with clothes—pants, shoes, coat, fur coat, gloves, silk hat. They’re your conventions, your inhibitions, your prohibitions—hooray for Bryan! You can’t embrace occasion with clothes on—shoes, hats, coats, overcoat, pants. Got to get rid of ’em, boys, got to get rid of ’em! Civilized man’s got too many clothes. How’s he going to do it? How’s he going to do it, boys?”
McCall went gravely from one to the other, repeating his question. Nobody was listening. Every one was laughing extravagantly, except the sentimental major, who was weeping over his wife and kiddies. A captain and a second lieutenant were trying vainly to comfort him. Two captains were telling funny stories at the same time. Another group was singing songs. Hamilton was laughing loudly at all of them because he was the only man sober.
“I’ll tell you how to get rid of your clothes,” McCall held up a whiskey bottle and waxed oratorical. “Civilized man got solution right here, in little bottle with removable cork. Get drunk! Then all conventions, all restraints disappear like the dew before a midday sun, like dew on desert’s dusty face, like dew—well, anyway like dew!
“When you’re drunk, you’re free. You’re free like gilded bird let out of cage, or bird out of gilded cage. Your mind is free. Your soul is free of its trammels. Who wants to wear trammels anyway? Down with trammels. The fetters on your mind—the restraints, the conventions are removed like buttons from pair trousers. One drink and you remove the yoke from your neck.”