When I turned my back on Benicia, my way led through saloons.

I had developed no moral theories against drinking, and I disliked as much as ever the taste of the stuff.

But I had grown respectfully suspicious of John Barleycorn.

I could not forget that trick he had played on me--on me who did not want to die.

So I continued to drink, and to keep a sharp eye on John Barleycorn, resolved to resist all future suggestions of self-destruction.
In strange towns I made immediate acquaintances in the saloons.