He had never laughed so much before in all his life, he thought.

Every one, even Paw, who was normally a mean, cantankerous old cuss, was having the time of his life.
They attempted to show Casey certain intricacies of their still, which made it better than other stills and put a greater kick in the White Mule it bred.

Somewhere back in the dim recesses of Casey's mind, he felt that he ought to listen and remember what they told him.

Vaguely he knew that he must not take another drink, no matter how insistent they were.

In the brief glow of that resolution Casey protested that he could hoot without any more hootch.