Busby's temper now began to get out of hand.
"I don't know what you heard," he said, "but I know that you're making a juggins of yourself. Leave go my arm!"
Gray complied.
"Now, what do you want?" asked Busby, offensively.
Gray lifted one finger dramatically, without appearing to notice the last remark. "I give you warning," he said, in a sepulchral voice. "Beware!"
Busby began to laugh.
"There's something wrong with you, Jimmy; you'd better see a doctor. Come and have a whisky."
"No," shouted Gray. "I refuse to have your whisky."
"Oh, all right," said Busby. "I won't force it on you. You used not to want asking twice; but I've noticed you've been off it a bit lately."
Gray winced visibly under this remark, and proceeded to turn the conversation. He drew nearer to Busby, and whispered hoarsely—