The mild eyes searched me. There was a violent trembling of the lower lip.
“Do you mean that, Slim?” Before I could answer he added, proudly: “I don’t need to ’ave no one sayin’ they’ve got a fancy for me when they ’aven’t.”
“Oh, but it’s true!”
Two shivering hands were stretched out toward me in dramatic appeal.
“Oh, then leave that there drink alone and come ’ome along o’ me.” His eyes fell on the glass. “’Ow many o’ them things ’ave ye ’ad?”
“None yet; this is the first; and I haven’t tasted it.”
He straightened himself up, speaking with what I can only call a kind of exaltation.
“Then God A’mighty has sent me to you in time. It’s Him—and except Him ’tain’t no one nor nothink. Slim, if you puts yer lips to that glass now ye’ll be sinnin’ in His face just as much as if it was Him and not me as was a-pleadin’ with ye.”
“It isn’t a sin to take a cocktail.”
“Not for every one, I don’t suppose. It wouldn’t be for the doctor; and it wouldn’t be for Mr. Coningsby; but ’tis for me, and ’tis for you. There’s take-it-and-leave-it people in the world, and there’s take-it-and-be-damned; and you and me belongs to the last. Oh, Slim, don’t be mad wi’ me! Ain’t ye a silver-star man in the Down and Out? Ain’t I yer next friend—yer real next friend, that is—a great deal more than that young Pyn, with ’is impotent tongue, what stood up with you? Come ’ome along o’ me, and I’ll show you somethin’ good.”