Kells held the glass with both shaking hands, tipped it, drank deeply.
Borg got up, came over and leaned on the foot of the bed.
“Where do you remember to?” he asked. — Kells handed the empty glass to Beery, lay down. “When we got back from the island, I phoned Fenner — and had Bernie get a bottle...”
“Four bottles... And you sucked up three of ’em. I had to practically clip you to get a swallow. You said your leg hurt an’ you wanted to get drunk...”
Kells said: “Sure, I remember...”
“You did.”
Beery chuckled. “Uh huh,” he said. “You did.”
“Then when we got you to the hotel,” Borg went on, “an” into bed, you started having the screaming heebies and the Doc give you a shot in the arm — so you got worse...” Kells smiled faintly. His eyes were closed. “The Doc was running around in circles wringing his hands because he thought the leg was going to gangrene or something. You started roaring for more M, and then when I left you alone for a minute you got up an’ promoted a tube of Hyoscine someplace, an’ a needle...” Borg paused, straightening up and finished disgustedly: “An’ I’ll be god-damned if you didn’t shoot the whole bloody tube!”
Beery said: “Then you began to get really violent — tried to do a hundred an’ eight out the window, wanted to walk across the ceiling — things like that. We smuggled you out of the hotel and brought you over here.” Kells said: “Give me a drink, Shep.” He sat up again slowly, took the glass. “How many days?”
Beery said: “Four.”