He thanked me and said,
"No." I met the captain every night taking his men as far as Salina
Street, and we always saluted one another.
My new pal couldn't be got up on Main Street to the postoffice again for
anything, and as soon as he earned money enough he took the train for
"little old New York." I've met him on the Bowery since I became a
missionary there, and we did smile about that ride in the "hurry-up
wagon" in Syracuse.
Finally I came back to New York, after being away quite a time, got work
in a carpet factory, and was quite steady for a while.
My poor dear mother was sick, sometimes up and oftentimes in bed. I can
still see her and hear her say, "David, my poor boy, I do wish you would
stop your drinking. I've prayed for you, and will pray until I die. Oh,
Dave! I'd die so happy if my only son would stop and be a man!" But that
cursed appetite, what a hold it had on me! It seemed as if I couldn't
stop if I had been given all the money in the world.
I did love my mother dearly; I didn't care for any one in the world but
her. Still, one of the meanest acts I ever did was to my mother. And
such a good mother she was; there are not many like her!
She was in bed and had only a few weeks to live.
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