I rattled my chair on the floor impatiently and begged him to take that, but he demurred.
"Ain't used to 'em," he explained. Then, once more, in genuine and open curiosity—"Whur 'n hell yo' ben?"
"You've said it—in hell!" I answered, savagely, slipping my papers to one side and sitting upon the table's edge. "And Granny, your blessed aunt, is the one who shoved me in—good and deep!"
"Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw!" roared Jeff Angel, with an intonation indescribably ludicrous had I been in the humor to enjoy it. His head went back and his curving whisker shook at me like a bent forefinger.
"Damn it, man!" I gritted, worn irascible by that week's awful experiences; "don't laugh and joke the night away! Tell me about Lessie—then we'll make merry till morning if you wish!"
"We'll drink, till we sink, in th' middle o' th' road,
But we won't go home till mawn—'n'!"
Thus caroled this irrepressible Antic, and drew from some recess in his rags the bottle which I had seen before.
I glared at him helplessly. Perhaps he was a trifle drunker than he was that other time, when I gave him his supper. There he sat swaying his head from side to side, peering mischievously at me with his watery blue eyes, irresponsible as an infant. Then I recognized the futility of anger, or importunity. This queer being would speak when he got ready, and not before. I made a great effort, and threw off the impetuousness which desired to know everything at once. I would humor this half civilized, half crazy person.
"Let us drink, then!" I agreed, bending forward with outstretched arm. "I need a bracer, anyway."
At this the Satyr sat up with distended lids and mouth ajar, holding himself to a rigid perpendicular by planting his hands on either side of him and putting his weight upon them.