"Hello, Jack."
"Hello, John"; and the visitor sat down. Higginbotham glanced at him and noticed that his face was drawn and his eyes "like holes burnt in a blanket." His fingers trembled as he rolled a cigarette.
"Say, John," Lowe began nervously, "in case any rumour gets around that the Preacher and I were a little reckless at Bylow's, you can contradict it. At least there's nothing in it as far as I am concerned. I think the Preacher must have taken some before I arrived. He showed the effects, but not much."
"Hm," said Higginbotham. "You got there late?"
"Yes, you see we—that is, both of us—went there to stop that spree—and we did, in a way, but things got a little mixed."
"How was that?"
"Well, I went there to help him and I did what I could for him, but they had had some already. We spilled the keg on the floor and the fumes were pretty strong and affected him a little. Didn't amount to much. I did what I could. It was strong enough to affect me—unpleasantly, too. I thought I'd just let you know in case there was anything said about it."
As soon as he was gone, Hannah appeared. Apparently, she had overheard the conversation. "Well, did you catch on?"
"Partly; how did it strike you?"
"I think he is trying to save his own skin by dragging in the Preacher."