“He drinks when he has a mind to; and he’s got a large and active mind.”
“What does his father think of it?”
“Various sentiments.”
“Wint is looking badly.”
Gergue nodded. “I come along the street this morning,” he said. “He was standing in front of the Post Office. His back was to me; and when I says, ‘Hello’ to him, he jumped a foot. Nerves on edge.”
“That’s natural.”
Peter shook his head. “Not natural; booze.”
“Oh,” said Amos; and: “But he’ll straighten up. He’ll come out all right.”
Peter shook his head. “I’ve seen ’em go that way. By and by his face will begin to look old, just over night. And then his clothes will get shabby, and b’fore anybody knows different, he’ll be hanging around the hotel corner of nights with a cigarette in his mouth.” He hesitated. “He’s set in his way, Amos. Nothing but an accident’ll change him.”
Amos looked across at Peter curiously. “Accident?”