morning, going down the long bleak road among the sandhills. I,
too, had my girl, and was a little man.

The Italian rancho was a bachelor establishment. Our visit was
hailed with delight. The red wine was poured in tumblers for all,
and the long dining-room was partly cleared for dancing. And the
young fellows drank and danced with the girls to the strains of an
accordion. To me that music was divine. I had never heard
anything so glorious. The young Italian who furnished it would
even get up and dance, his arms around his girl, playing the
accordion behind her back. All of which was very wonderful for
me, who did not dance, but who sat at a table and gazed wide-eyed
at the amazingness of life. I was only a little lad, and there
was so much of life for me to learn. As the time passed, the
Irish lads began helping themselves to the wine, and jollity and
high spirits reigned. I noted that some of them staggered and
fell down in the dances, and that one had gone to sleep in a
corner. Also, some of the girls were complaining, and wanting to
leave, and others of the girls were titteringly complacent,
willing for anything to happen.

When our Italian hosts had offered me wine in a general sort of
way, I had declined. My beer experience had been enough for me,
and I had no inclination to traffic further in the stuff, or in
anything related to it. Unfortunately, one young Italian, Peter,
an impish soul, seeing me sitting solitary, stirred by a whim of
the moment, half-filled a tumbler with wine and passed it to me.
He was sitting across the table from me. I declined. His face
grew stern, and he insistently proffered the wine. And then
terror descended upon me--a terror which I must explain.