Laban held up a protesting hand. “Don't hurrah yet, Al,” he said. “This ain't the first time I've tried it. I've swore off a dozen times in the last fifteen years. I've promised Rachel and broke the promise over and over again. Broke my promise to her, the best woman in the world. Shows what I am, what sort I am, don't it, Al? Yes, it does,--yes, yes. And she's stuck by me, too, Lord knows why. Last time I broke it I said I'd never promise her again. Bad enough to be a common drunk without bein' a liar--yes, yes. But this is a little different. Seems to me--seems so.” He began his pacing up and down again. “Seems different, somehow,” he went on. “Seems like a new chance. I want to do somethin' for Uncle Sam. I--I'd like to try and enlist for the duration of the war--swear off for that long, anyhow. Then, maybe, I'd be able to keep on for life, you know--duration of Labe Keeler, eh? Yes, yes, yes. But I could begin for just the war, couldn't I? Maybe, 'twould fool me into thinkin' that was easier.” “Of course, Labe. It's a good idea.” “Maybe; and maybe it's a fool one. But I'm goin' to try it. I AM tryin' it, have been all day.” He paused, drew a shaking hand across his forehead and then asked, “Al, will you help me? I asked you up here hopin' you would. Will you, Al, eh? Will you?” Albert could not understand how he could possibly help another man keep the pledge, but his promise was eagerly given. “Certainly, Labe,” he said. “Thanks . . . thank you, Al. . . . And now will you do something for me--a favor?” “Gladly. What is it?” Laban did not answer at once. He appeared to be on the point of doing so, but to be struggling either to find words or to overcome a tremendous reluctance. When he did speak the words came in a burst. “Go down stairs,” he cried. “Down those stairs you came up. At the foot of 'em, in a kind of cupboard place, under 'em, there's--there probably is a jug, a full jug. It was due to come by express to-day and I cal'late it did, cal'late Jim Young fetched it down this afternoon. I--I could have looked for myself and seen if 'twas there,” he added, after a momentary hesitation, “but--but I didn't dare to. I was afraid I'd--I'd--” “All right, Labe. I understand. What do you want me to do with it if it is there?” “I want you--I want you to--to--” The little bookkeeper seemed to be fighting another internal battle between inclination and resolution. The latter won, for he finished with, “I want you to take it out back of the buildin' and--and empty it. That's what I want you to do, empty it, Al, every drop. . . . And, for the Almighty's sake, go quick,” he ordered, desperately, “or I'll tell you not to before you start. Go!”