An occasional mild cocktail before a dinner, and perhaps twice a week a bottle of light beer or a glass of light wine with the dinner--these, in those old wild wicked days which ended in January, 1920, practically made up the tally of my habitual flirtations with the accursed Demon.

In the springtime I might chamber an occasional mint julep, but this, really, was a sort of rite, a gesture of salute to the young green year.

Likewise at Christmas time I partook sparingly of the ceremonial and traditional egg-nog.

And once in a great while, on a bitter cold night in the winter, a hot apple toddy was not without its attractions.

But these indulgences about covered the situation, alcoholically speaking, so far as I was concerned.