When, on a morning, my unconscious carcass was disentangled from the nets on the drying-frames, whither I had stupidly, blindly crawled the night before; and when the water-front talked it over with many a giggle and laugh and another drink, I was proud indeed.

It was an exploit.
And when I never drew a sober breath, on one stretch, for three solid weeks, I was certain I had reached the top.

Surely, in that direction, one could go no farther.

It was time for me to move on.

For always, drunk or sober, at the back of my consciousness something whispered that this carousing and bay-adventuring was not all of life.