"Gad, Chichester!" he exclaimed, "it tastes damnably of the
f-flask--faugh! What time is it?"
"A quarter to seven!"
"Th-three quarters of an hour to wait!"
"It will soon pass, Ronald, besides, he's sure to be early."
"Hope so! But I--I think I'll s-sit down."
"Well, the floor's dry, though dirty."
"D-dirty? So it is, but beggars can't be c-choosers and--dev'lish
drowsy place, this!--I'm a b-beggar--you know t-that, and--pah! I
think I'm l-losing my--taste for brandy--"
"Really, Ronald? I've thought you seemed over fond of it--especially
lately."
"No--no!" answered Barrymaine, speaking in a thick, indistinct voice
and rocking unsteadily upon his heels, "I'm not--n-not drunk,
only--dev'lish sleepy!" and swaying to the wall he leaned there with
head drooping.
"Then you'd better--lie down, Ronald."
"Yes, I'll--lie down, dev'lish--drowsy p-place--lie down," mumbled
Barrymaine, suiting the action to the word; yet after lying down
full length, he must needs struggle up to his elbow again to blink
at Mr. Chichester, heavy eyed and with one hand to his wrinkling brow.
"Wha-what w-was it we--came for? Oh y-yes--I know--Bev'ley, of course!
You'll w-wake me--when he c-comes?"
"I'll wake you, Ronald.
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