Fred Collins, with his six friends, stepped into the rum shop one evening. As they went out, late that night, walking very unsteadily, the saloon-keeper put a big stone right in the way of one of Fred’s comrades, and tripped him up. The comrade fell and was killed. That comrade was Fred’s Health.
The next night, Fred Collins, with five friends, went to the rum shop again, and again they all got drunk, so drunk that another friend was tripped up, as he went out, by the sly saloon-keeper. That friend was Fred’s Reputation.
The third night, in just the same way, another friend was lost,—this time, Fred’s Wealth. The fourth night, the stumbling block tripped up Fred’s Happiness, and the poor fellow from that time on had nobody to keep him cheerful. The next friend to go was Fred’s Mind, so that Fred hardly had enough wit left to call for a glass of whiskey when he came back on the sixth night. And that evening, as he and his sole remaining friend left the rum shop, that friend also was tripped up and slain. It was Fred’s Soul.
The next night was the seventh, the holy Sabbath, and Fred lay alone in the gutter, his six friends all fallen over the rum-shop’s stumbling-blocks. And Fred himself was dead.
Amos Russel Wells
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