"Come on, an' mebbe we'll cook up something." Martin declined.
"Water-wagon ?" This time Martin nodded, and Joe lamented, "Wish I was." "But I somehow just can't," he said in extenuation.

"After I've ben workin' like hell all week I just got to booze up.

If I didn't, I'd cut my throat or burn up the premises.

But I'm glad you're on the wagon.
Stay with it." Martin knew of the enormous gulf between him and this man--the gulf the books had made; but he found no difficulty in crossing back over that gulf.

He had lived all his life in the working-class world, and the camaraderie of labor was second nature with him.