"Because the jug's empty," answered Mr. Adams.
"Then slip down to the cellar again."
"No!" Mr. Coyne almost screamed it, rising from his chair. Dropping back weakly, he murmured, panting, "Not for me: not on any account!" His face was pale, and for the moment all the aggressiveness had gone out of him. He lifted a hand weakly to his heart.
"A sudden faintness," he groaned, closing his eyes. "If you two men had any feelin's, you'd offer to see me home."
"The pair of us?" asked Mr. Jope suavely.
"I scale over seventeen stone," murmured Mr. Coyne, still with his eyes closed; "an' a weight like that is no joke."
Mr. Jope nodded.
"You're right there; so you'd best give it over. Sorry to seem heartless, sir, but 'tis for your good: an' to walk home in your state would be a sin, when we can fix you up a bed in the house."
Mr. Coyne opened his eyes, and they were twinkling vindictively.
"Sleep in this house?" he exclaimed. "I wouldn't do it, not for a thousand pound!"