“There was a fellar there had made two hundred dollars to his trip. He treated. So I said I didn’t want any. But I hankered for it till it seemed I’d die there on the spot before ’em. Ben, he sent a bar-boy after me come to say I needn’t drink unless I pleased, but not to be onsocial, and to come along with the crowd. So I said, No, I was a goin’ home to my wife and kid. When the fellar was gone, I see he’d slipped a bottle into my coat pocket. It was a pint bottle XXX. The cork was loose and it leaked. So I put it back, for I swore I wouldn’t touch it, and I got a little on my fingers. I put ’em in my mouth to lick ’em off--and, sir, before God, that’s all I know--till I come to, to-day. The hanker got me, and that’s all I know. I must ha’ ben at it all night. Seems to me I went home an’ licked my wife and come away ag’in, but I ain’t sure. I must ha’ ben on a reg’lar toot. I’m a ---- drunken fool, and the quicker you let me go to ---- the better.” Job leaned over and gazed at the water quietly. There was a look about his jaw which Bayard did not like. He came out from under the salt-house and moved the keg close beside the broken pile. “What were you doing when I found you? I’ve been looking for you everywhere--last night, and all day.” “I was havin’ it out,” said Job doggedly. “Having?”-- “It lays between me and the rum, God and the devil. I was set to see which would beat.” “Why didn’t you come straight over to see me?” “I couldn’t.” “_Couldn’t_ put your feet up those steps and walk in?” “No, sir. I couldn’t do it. I come over twenty times. I couldn’t get no further. I _had_ to come back to Trawl’s. I HAD TO DO IT!” Job brought his clenched hand down heavily on his knee. “You can’t onderstand, sir,” he said drearily. “You ain’t a drinkin’ man.” “I sometimes wish I had been,” said the minister unexpectedly. “I must understand these things.” “God forbid!” said Job solemnly. He stretched his shaking arm out with a beautiful gesture, and put it around Bayard, as if he were shielding from taint a woman or some pure being from an unknown world. Tears sprang to the minister’s eyes. He took the drunkard’s dirty hand, and clasped it warmly. The two men sat in silence. Job looked at the water. Bayard looked steadily at Job. “Come,” he said at length, in his usual tone. “It is beginning to rain, in earnest. I’m not _quite_ strong yet. I suppose I must not sit here. Take my arm, and come home to Mari and Joey.” Job acquiesced hopelessly. He knew that it would happen all over again. They walked on mutely; their steps fell with a hollow sound upon the deserted pier; the water sighed as they passed, like the involuntary witness of irreclaimable tragedy. Suddenly, Bayard dropped Job’s hand, and spoke in a ringing voice:-- “Job Slip, get down upon your knees--just where you stand!” Job hesitated. “Down!” cried Bayard. Job obeyed, as if he had been a dog. “Now, lift up your hands--so--to the sky.”