'
'What, never touch it at all? Not even beer?'
'Not even beer.'
'Well, I am astonished to hear that. I thought every Englishman drank
beer.'
'There is at least one Englishman who does not.'
'All right, then; no harm done, and no offence given, I hope. I may say,
however, that you miss a lot of fun in this world.'
'I suppose I miss a few headaches also.'
'Oh, not necessarily. I have one great recipe for not having a headache.
You see, this is the philosophy of headaches.' And then, much to John's
chagrin, he linked arms with him and changed his step to suit Kenyon's,
talking all the time as if they were the most intimate friends in the
world. 'I have a sure plan for avoiding a headache. You see, when you
look into the matter, it is this way: The headache only comes when you
are sober. Very well, then. It is as simple as A B C. Never get sober;
that's my plan. I simply keep on, and never get sober, so I have no
headaches. If people who drink would avoid the disagreeable necessity of
ever getting sober, they would be all right. Don't you see what I mean?'
'And how about their brains in the meantime?'
'Oh, their brains are all right. Good liquor sharpens a man's brains
wonderfully. Now, you try it some time. Let me have them mix a cocktail
for you? I tell you, John, a cocktail is one of the finest drinks that
ever was made, and this man at the bar--when I came on board, he thought
he could make a cocktail, but he didn't know even the rudiments--I have
taught him how to do it; and I tell you that secret will be worth a
fortune to him, because if there is anything Americans like, it is to
have their cocktails mixed correctly.
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