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Now, there was this difference between Jack and me. When I was on the track, and healthy and contented, I could take a drink, or two drinks, and then leave it; or at other times I could drink all day, or all night, and be as happy as a lord, and be mighty sick and repentant all next day, and then not touch drink for a week; but if Jack once started, he was a lost man for days, for weeks, for, months–as long as his cash or credit lasted. I felt a cold coming on me this morning, and wanted a whisky, so I had a drink with Thomas. Then, of course, I shouted in my turn, keeping an eye out in case Jack should come in. I went into the kitchen and steamed with Jack for a while in front of a big log fire, taking care to keep my breath away from him. Then we went in to breakfast. Those two drinks were all I meant to have, and we were going right on after breakfast.

It was a good breakfast, ham and eggs, and we enjoyed it. The two whiskies had got to work. I hadn’t touched drink for a long time. I shouldn’t like to say that Thomas put anything in the drink he gave me. Before we started breakfast he put a glass down in front of me and said:

“There’s a good ginger-ale, it will warm you up.”

I tasted it; it was rum, hot. I said nothing. What could I say?

There was some joke about Jack being married and settled and steadied down, and me, his old mate, still on the wallaby; and Mrs Thomas said that I ought to follow Jack’s example. And just then I felt a touch of that loneliness that some men feel when an old drinking mate turns teetotaller.

Jack started coughing again, like an old cow with the pleuro.

“That cough will kill you, Jack,” said Thomas. “Let’s put a drop of brandy in your coffee, that won’t start you, anyhow; it’s real ‘Three Star.'” And he reached a bottle from the side-table.

I should have stood up then, for my manhood, for my mate, and for little Clara, but I half rose from my chair, and Jack laughed and said, “Sit down, Joe, you old fool, you’re tanked. I know all about your seeing about the horses and your ginger-ales. It’s all right, old man. Do you think I’m going on the booze? Why, I’ll have to hold you on the horse all day.”

“Here’s luck, Joe!” said Jack, laughing, and lifting up his cup of coffee with the brandy in it. “Here’s luck, Joe.”

Then suddenly, and as clearly as I ever heard it, came Clara’s voice to my ear: “Promise me, whatever you do, that you will never have a drink with Jack.” And I felt cold and sick to the stomach.

I got up and went out. They thought that the drink had made me sick, but if I’d stayed there another minute I would have tackled Thomas; and I knew that I needed a clear head to tackle a bullock like him. I walked about a bit, and when I came in again Jack and Thomas were in the bar, and Jack had a glass before him.

“Come on, Joe, you old bounder,” said Jack, “come and have a whisky-and-soda; it will straighten you up.”

“What’s that you’re drinking, Jack?” I asked.

“Oh, don’t be a fool!” said Jack. “One drink won’t hurt me. Do you think I’m going on the booze? Have a soda and straighten up; we must make a start directly.”

I remember we had two or three whiskies, and then suddenly I tackled Thomas, and Jack was holding me back, and laughing and swearing at me at the same time, and I had a tussle with him; and then I was suddenly calmer and sensible, and we were shaking hands all round, and Jack was talking about just one more spree for the sake of old times.