With the smell of the
whiskey in his nostrils he had the bottle half-way to his lips before he
realized that the demon of appetite had sprung upon him out of the
darkness, taking him naked and unawares. Twice he put the bottle down,
only to take it up again. His lips were parched; his tongue rattled in
his mouth, and within there were cravings like the fires of hell,
threatening torments unutterable if they should not be assuaged.
"God have mercy!" he mumbled, and then, in a voice which the rising
fires had scorched to a hoarse whisper: "If I drink, I'm damned to all
eternity; and if I don't take just one swallow, I'll never be able to
talk so as to make Goodloe understand me!"
It was the supreme test of the man. Somewhere, deep down in the
soul-abyss of the tempted one, a thing stirred, took shape, and arose to
help him to fight the devil of appetite. Slowly the fierce thirst burned
itself out. The invisible hand at his throat relaxed its cruel grip, and
a fine dew of perspiration broke out thickly on his forehead. At the
sweating instant the newly arisen soul-captain within him whispered,
"Now, John Judson--once for all!" and staggering to the open window he
flung the tempting bottle afar among the scattered bowlders, waiting
until he had heard the tinkling crash of broken glass before he turned
back to his appointed task.
Pages:
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318