All the world was mine, all its paths were under my feet, and John Barleycorn, tricking my fancy, enabled me to anticipate the life of adventure for which I yearned.
We were not ordinary.

We were three tipsy young gods, incredibly wise, gloriously genial, and without limit to our powers.

Ah!--and I say it now, after the years--could John Barleycorn keep one at such a height, I should never draw a sober breath again.

But this is not a world of free freights.

One pays according to an iron schedule--for every strength the balanced weakness; for every high a corresponding low; for every fictitious god-like moment an equivalent time in reptilian slime.