"The mistress will be wanting you soon; you'd better be within call."
"You mind your own business, Potts. Potts! Were you always called Potts or did we change your name to match the bar? Potts! Good name that! I'll have some whisky, Potts."
"No, now, really I shouldn't." But for themselves, the place was empty and the good man remonstrated. "Think of the mistress up there, now. You know she wouldn't like it. 'Potts,' she said, 'look after the master for me. Now I trust you,' she said."
"Get out of my way, you fool! I'll help myself."
"For God's sake, hush, man! She'll hear you. Just you go out quietly and sit down in the parlour and cool yourself. Come along, now. We don't want to have trouble to-night."
"Who's having trouble? All quite happy an' lively. Never felt better; and if you don't get out of my way and let me have that drink, I'll—I'll fell you, Potts."
Nothing of this he remembered afterwards, and it seemed to him that he only began to live when he heard the thud of the man's body as it dropped to the floor, the tinkle of a broken glass and the gentle dripping of the liquor that had been in it. He thought it was the blood of Potts that he had spilt, and then from upstairs he heard the voice of Clara crying out from the midst of her pain, "Jim, Jim, what are you doing? Come up here, I want you."
And before he could remember anything but his own distress he had obeyed her and fallen to his knees beside the bed, telling her that Potts was lying on the floor, he believed he had killed Potts.
The nurse, who was both blunt and burly, seized him by the shoulders. "Get out of it this minute," she said, "or you'll be killing someone else."
"No, let him stay," said Clara faintly. "Go and see what's the matter. He'll be quiet."