For another reason Hodge felt uncertain about Burns. It was plain that the aged tragedian was inclined to look on the wine “when it was red,” and Bart feared he would prove troublesome and unreliable on that account.
“I am done with the stuff!” Hodge had declared over and over. “On that night in the ruffians’ den at Ace High I swore never to touch it again, for I saw what brutes it makes of men. I have little confidence in any man who will drink it.”
“Oh, be a little more liberal,” entreated Frank. “You know there are men who drink moderately, and it never seems to harm them.”
“I know there are such men,” admitted Bart; “but it is not blood that runs in their veins. It’s water.”
“Not all men are so hot-blooded and impulsive as you and Jack Diamond.”
“Don’t speak of Diamond! I don’t think anything of that fellow. I am talking about this Burns. He is a sot, that’s plain. Drink has dragged him down so far that all the powers in the world cannot lift him up. Some night when everything depends on him, he will fail you, for he will be too drunk to play his part. Then you will be sorry that you had anything to do with him.”
“All the powers in this world might not be able to lift him up,” admittted Frank; “but there are other powers that can do so. I pity the poor, old man. He realizes his condition and what he has missed in life.”
“But the chances are that the audience will throw things at him when he appears as a comedian.”
“Instead of that, I believe he will convulse them with laughter.”
“Well, you have some queer ideas. We’ll see who’s right.”