D the blue veins in the hand that lay on his knee. It came over me with
sudden amusement and I said: "I often get drunk myself." "You?"
"Yes--dreadfully drunk." He looked at me and laughed--for the first
time! And I laughed, too. Do you know, there's a lot of human nature in
people! And when you think you are deep in tragedy, behold, humour lurks
just around the corner! "I used to laugh at it a good deal more than I
do now," he said. "I've been through it all. Sometimes when I go to town
I say to myself, 'I will not turn at that corner,' but when I come to
the corner, I do turn. Then I say 'I will not go into that bar,' but I
do go in. 'I will not order anything to drink,' I say to myself, and
then I hear myself talking aloud to the barkeeper just as though I were
some other person. 'Give me a glass of rye,' I say, and I stand off
looking at myself, very angry and sorrowful. But gradually I seem to
grow weaker and weaker--or rather stronger and stronger--for my brain
begins to become clear, and I see things and feel things I never saw or
felt before. I want to sing." "And you do sing," I said. "I do, indeed,"
he responded, laughing, "and it seems to me the most beautiful music in
the world." "Sometimes," I said, "when I'm on _my_
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