"They may call this a grand fête if they like," he mumbled. "I call it a shabby affair. Why, there's not a respectable drink in the place. The lucky thing is that I have provided my own."
He had a bottle with him, and he sucked at it from time to time as he staggered on, until all of a sudden he ran on to the alarmed masker, who was growing impatient to change his garments.
The staggering one looked up, and seeing such an alarming figure towering over him, he gave a wild howl and fled.
"The devil! the devil!" he shouted wildly. "Help! help!"
"Stop that fool, Matteo, or he will bring the whole house down about our ears."
Matteo seized the merrymaker, and was about to make short work with him, when his superior held his hand.
"Put by your knife," he said; "not that. Hold him tight and threaten him; but no knife."
But for this timely interference, it would have gone hard with the unfortunate new-comer, who was our old friend Mole.
Mole, it should be noted, had been compelled to change his cork legs, on which he could scarcely stand, for his old, familiar stumps, which Harvey had brought with him in case any accident should occur.
"Forgive me, Mr. Devil," he implored, in drunken tones, "oh, forgive me."