"Well, Art," said he, "what is it you wish to speak to me about? I hear
you were drunk last night. Now I thought you had more sense than to let
these fellows put you into such a pickle. I have a fine, well-conducted
set of men in general; but there is among them a hardened, hackneyed
crew, who, because they are good workmen, don't care a curse about
either you or me, or anybody else. They're always sure of employment, if
not here, at least elsewhere, or, indeed, anywhere."
"But it wasn't their fault," replied Art, "it was altogether my own;
they were opposed to my drinkin' at all, especially as they knew that I
promised Frank never to get drunk agin. It was when Syl Harte proposed
Frank's health, that I drank the whiskey in spite o' them."
"Syl Harte," said his master with a smile, "ay, I was thinkin' so; well,
no matter, Art, have strength and resolution not to do the like again."
"But that's the curse, sir," replied the young man, "I have neither the
one nor the other, and it's on that account I sent for you."
"How is that, Art?"
"Why," said the other, "I am goin' to bind myself--I am goin' to swear
against it, and so to make short work of it, and for fraid any one might
prevent me"--he blessed himself, and proceeded--"I now, in the presence
of God, swear upon this blessed manwil (* Manual) that a drop of
spirituous drink, or liquor of any kind, won't cross my lips for the
next seven years, barrin' it may be necessary as medicine;" he then
kissed the book three times, blessed himself again, and sat down
considerably relieved.
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