p. 455 | Temperance

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Jul 31, 1884

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 10, No. 29.

Temperance.

Why He Swore Off.

“No, I won’t drink with you to-day, boys,” said a drummer to several companions, as they settled down in the smoking-car and passed the bottle. “The fact is, boys, I have quit drinking—I’ve sworn off.”

His words were greeted by shouts of laughter by the jolly crowd around him; they put the bottle under his nose and indulged in many jokes at his expense, but he refused to drink, and was rather serious about it.

“What is the matter with you, old boy?” sang out one. “If you’ve sworn off drinking, something is up; tell us what it is?”

“Well, boys, I will, although I know you’ll laugh at me. But I’ll tell you, all the same. I have been a drinking man all my life, ever since I was married; as you all know, I love whisky—it’s as sweet in my mouth as sugar—and God only knows how I’ll quit it. For seven years not a day has passed over my head that I didn’t have at least one drink. But I am done. Yesterday I was in Chicago. On South Clark Street a customer of mine keeps a pawn shop in connection with his other branches of business. Well, I called on him, and while I was there a young man of not more than twenty-five, wearing threadbare clothes, and looking as hard as if he hadn’t seen a sober day for a month, came in with a little package in his hand. Tremblingly he unwrapped it, and handed the article to the pawnbroker, saying:—

“Give me ten cents.”

“And, boys, what do you suppose that it was? A pair of baby shoes, little things with the buttons only a trifle soiled, as if they had been worn only once or twice.”

“Where did you get these?” asked the pawnbroker.

“Got ‘em at home,” replied the man, who had an intelligent face and the manner of a gentleman, despite his sad condition. “My—my wife bought them for our baby. Give me ten cents for ‘em—I want a drink.”

“You had better take the shoes back to your wife; the baby will need them,” said the pawnbroker.

“No s-she won’t, because—because she’s dead. She’s lying at home now—died last night.”

“As he said this the poor fellow broke down, bowed his head on the showcase, and cried like a child. Boys,” said the drummer, “you can laugh if you please, but I—I have a baby of my own at home, and I swear I’ll never drink another drop.”

Then he got up and went into another car. His companions glanced at each other in silence; no one laughed; the bottle disappeared, and soon each was sitting in a seat by himself reading a newspaper.—Chicago Herald.