I have written it to exalt the power of John Barleycorn and to illustrate one more of the myriad ways by which a man is brought in contact with John Barleycorn until in the end he finds he cannot get along without him.
But to return to the run of my narrative.

Away from the adventure-path, up to my ears in study, every moment occupied, I lived oblivious to John Barleycorn's existence.

Nobody about me drank.

If any had drunk, and had they offered it to me, I surely would have drunk.

As it was, when I had spare moments I spent them playing chess, or going with nice girls who were themselves students, or in riding a bicycle whenever I was fortunate enough to have it out of the pawnbroker's possession.
What I am insisting upon all the time is this: in me was not the slightest trace of alcoholic desire, and this despite the long and severe apprenticeship I had served under John Barleycorn.