deeper and deeper into the slough. I knew all the drugstore clerks in
New York by their first names, and they called me by mine. I no longer
even had to specify the abomination I desired. I simply handed the man
my ten cent check and said: "The usual, Jimmy," and he understood.

At first, considerations of health did not trouble me. I was young and
strong, and my constitution quickly threw off the effects of my
dissipation. Then, gradually, I began to feel worse. I was losing my
grip. I found a difficulty in concentrating my attention on my work. I
had dizzy spells. I became nervous and distrait. Eventually I went to
a doctor. He examined me thoroughly, and shook his head.

"If I am to do you any good," he said, "you must tell me all. You must
hold no secrets from me."

"Doctor," I said, covering my face with my hands, "I am a confirmed
soda-fiend."

He gave me a long lecture and a longer list of instructions. I must
take air and exercise and I must become a total abstainer from sundaes
of all descriptions. I must avoid limeade like the plague, and if
anybody offered me a Bulgarzoon I was to knock him down and shout for
the nearest policeman.

I learned then for the first time what a bitterly hard thing it is for
a man in a large and wicked city to keep from soda when once he has
got the habit. Everything was against me. The old convivial circle
began to shun me. I could not join in their revels and they began to
look on me as a grouch. In the end, I fell, and in one wild orgy undid
all the good of a month's abstinence. I was desperate then. I felt