rained, it simply poured. Mother tried to get the girl to throw me over;
she told her I would never make her a good husband; and I guess Mary was
sorry afterward that she did not take her advice.

The night of the wedding we had quite a blowout, and I was as drunk as I
could be. I'd ring in right here a bit of advice to my girl readers:
Don't ever try to convert a man--I mean one who drinks--by marrying him,
for in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred you won't succeed. In my case
I was young and did not care how the wind blew. I stayed out nights and
neglected my home, but I must say, bad as I was, I never hit my wife. I
think any man that raises his hand to hit a woman is worse than a cur,
and that he will certainly be punished in some way for it.

Things went from bad to worse, and one day I came home to the store and
there was no wife. She had gone. Married and deserted in two months! I
felt sore, and all I thought about was to get even with my wife. I sold
out the business, got a couple hundred dollars together, and started
after her. I found out that she had gone to Oswego, and I sent her a
telegram and was met at the station by her brother. It did not take me
long to get next to him. In a very short time I had him thinking there
was no one like Ranney. Mary and I made up and I promised never to drink
again, and we started for New York. My promises were easily broken, for
before we got to Syracuse both her brother and I were pretty drunk.

After reaching New York we went to mother's house and stayed there until
we got rooms, which we did in a few days. Mary's brother got work in a
lumberyard. I hunted as usual for a job, praying I wouldn't get it. I
went hustling lumber and worked two days, leaving because it took the
skin off my hands. Finally I could not pay the rent, was dispossessed,
and then went to live in "Hell's Kitchen," in Thirty-ninth Street, where