"
I've always felt that the best thing one man can give another is the
warm hand of understanding. And yet when I thought of the pathetic, shy
bee-man, hemmed in by his sunless walls, I felt that I should also say
something. Seeing two men struggling shall I not assist the better?
Shall I let the sober one be despoiled by him who is riotous? There are
realities, but there are also moralities--if we can keep them properly
separated.
"Most of us," I said finally, "are in some respects drunkards. We don't
give it so harsh a name, but we are just that. Drunkenness is not a mere
matter of intoxicating liquors; it goes deeper--far deeper. Drunkenness
is the failure of a man to control his thoughts."
The bee-man sat silent, gazing out before him. I noted 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.
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