I suggested, placing my hand on his arm.
"Go to hell," he said quietly and shook me loose. He lifted his glass, drained the last few drops. He held the empty glass to the light, then set it down, regretfully. "But first buy me a drink."
"You'd better go home," I said. "You've had enough."
He laughed harshly. "Look who's giving me orders. I know things about this cock-eyed old world you never had nightmares about, and you're ordering me around! Bossy newspapermen! Go to hell, then; I'll get my own drink."
He rose unsteadily and managed his way to the bar. He came back with the glass full.
"You still here. I thought I told you—"
"You'd better lay off that stuff," I said quietly. "You're not used to it."
"Boy, oh boy, you're just full of orders today, aren't you? Charlie Bennet, boy crusader! Well, I've got something you can crusade about. Anything else you'd like?"
"That's enough for now."
"You're damn right it is. Now get the hell out of here and leave me alone. Can't you see I'm brooding over the fate of the world?"