Then, for the first time, I noted something about Duncan that I thought shameful beyond words.
He had been drinking heavily. The smell of liquor was in his breath, and it was with difficulty that he kept from staggering.
"You're my best, friend," he mumbled. "My enemy and my friend."
"What are you doing in New York, Duncan?" I asked.
"Come on important business, Roger. Say, take me to the hotel, will you? That's a good fellow."
"Where are you staying?"
"Staying? Nowhere."
"Then why don't you take the train to Newville and go home?"
"Can't do that."
"Why not?"