Old Dennie O'Brion had looked upon the wine when it was red in the cup so long that he was about down and out; no one would hire him any more, even in the most menial capacity. His poor, hard-working wife had at last taken the pledge not to support him any longer in idleness, so it was up to Dennie to do something desperate. The most desperate thing he could think of was to swear off. So before the priest he took a solemn vow not to touch a drop of liquor for one year.
And he managed to retain his seat on the wagon splendidly—for thirty-six hours.
On the evening of the second day Mrs. O'Brion, in appreciation of his desperate efforts to conquer the demon rum, took Dennie and their twelve-year-old-son Mickie to the theater. It was a rollicking, up-to-date, musical comedy. The boys and the girls of the chorus at the rise of the curtain gayly quaffed huge quantities of imaginary wine from near-golden goblets. The Comedian was a jolly, jovial souse who never, during the first two acts, got sober but once, and then got into trouble by it.
The first act took place in a Parisian café, where the chorus men were all American millionaires buying wine for the Chorus Ladies.
The second act took place in a brewery, where the Comedian fell into a beer vat and was only saved by the number of champaign corks he had in his pockets, which acted as life preservers.
'Twas a fine play to take a man to who was only thirty-six hours on the water wagon.
At the end of the second act, when the Comedian had just been rescued from the beer vat, Dennie scrambled to his feet and began climbing for the aisle.
"Where are ye's goin', Dinnie?" asked Mrs. O'Brion anxiously.
"Let go me tail," says Dennie. "Me foot's asleep; I must get out." And tearing his coat-tail away he hurried up the aisle.
"Mickie, darlin'," said Mrs. O'Brion to her young hopeful, "follow your father! Don't let him get into a saloon! And if he does, stick to him! Bring him home! Hurry, now."