On the other hand, had the saloon been just around the corner, I should have got drunk.

As it was, I would sprawl out in the shade on my one day of rest and dally with the Sunday papers.

But I was too weary even for their froth.

The comic supplement might bring a pallid smile to my face, and then I would fall asleep.
Although I did not yield to John Barleycorn while working in the laundry, a certain definite result was produced.

I had heard the call, felt the gnaw of desire, yearned for the anodyne.