"Did I?" said Mr. Jope. "I didn't feel it."
"What cuts me to the quick is the thought o' them adders outside."
"Ye dolt! There ain't no real adders outside. They're what the chap invented to frighten the women."
"Sure? Then," mused Mr. Adams, after a pause, "maybe there ain't no real ghosts neither, but he invented the whole thing."
"Maybe. What d'ye say to steppin' down an' fetchin' up another mugful o' liquor?"
"I say," answered Mr. Adams slowly, "as how I won't."
"Toss for it," suggested Mr. Jope. "You refuse? Very well, then, I must go. Only I thought better of ye, Bill—I did indeed."
"I can't help what ye thought," Mr. Adams began sulkily; and then, as his friend rose with the face of a man who goes to meet the worst, he sprang up quaking. "Lord's sake, Ben Jope! You ain't a-goin' to take the candle an' leave me!"
"Bill Adams," said Mr. Jope with fine solemnity, "if I was to put a name on your besettin' sin, it would be cowardice—an' you can just sit here in the dark an' think it over."
"When I was on the p'int of offering to go with ye!"