“His face wore a restless expresssion, as if he had been haunted by the apprehension of arrest. You would have put him down at first sight as a man who had something upon his mind which was eternally weighing upon his spirits and depressing them. He drank heavily.
“His somewhat bloodshot eyes, together with their swollen lids, and the dry, parched, burnt-up, cracking skin upon his lips sufficiently proclaimed the fact of his having addicted himself to spirituous compounds in a wholesale manner.
“Pegon was in his element. He carried on the part he had undertaken with admirable cleverness.
“‘Ha—ha!’ laughed the sharpers.
“‘Pegon’s a good judge,’ said Toko.
“‘Yes, leave him alone,’ replied Donnymore.
“‘More wine, Donnymore,’ exclaimed Pegon. ‘Once you drinking my wine; to-day I drinking yours.”
“Donnymore complaisantly filled his friend’s glass, paying mine the same compliment. After Pegon had, to his satisfaction, quaffed the foaming vintage, he exclaimed—
“‘Donnymore, you telling me one thing.’
“‘Fire away, old fellow.’