The driver was offered a drink.
"Nope," he shook his head, grinning wisely, "I'm a teetotaler."
"Be back for us at dark," we shouted, as he jee-d about, heading toward
town again.
"Here's to old Gregory and his first drunk!"
Tin cups had been produced, and the bung of one of the barrels started
... the boys lifted their full, foaming cups in unison.
"Bottoms up!"
I joined in the drinking, despite my previous protestation that I would
not....
"Where's the old boy that runs this farm?"
"All the family's probably in town, this being Saturday afternoon."
"Let's whoop 'er up, then!"
We sang and shouted at the top of our voices.
The cups had been four times filled.
Though I had poured half of mine on the ground, I already felt dizzy.
But also a pleasant tingling, a warmth, was slowly increasing in my
nerves and veins and body ... an increased sense of well-being permeated
me. I stopped spilling my beer on the ground and drank it eagerly.
Someone proposed races up and down the cornfield. We rolled up our
trousers, to make it more hilarious, and ran, smashing through the
tender spring growth ... yelling and shouting....
Then the game unaccountably shifted into seeing who could pull up the
most corn stalks, beginning at an equal marked-off space out in each row
and rushing back with torn-up handfuls....
The afternoon dropped toward twilight and everybody was as mellow as the
departing day--which went down in a riot of gold.
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