"Right, old chap," he said; "very delicately put; won't keep you up another minute. Believe I'd like a drink first, though, if you don't mind."
Devilish bored as I was, I decided the easiest escape was to humor him.
"All right," I said, leaving the door open and stepping into the room; "I'll get you a glass of water."
"Water!" he exclaimed, following me right in. "Say, don't get funny; it's not becoming to you." He leered at me hideously.
He went right to the corner where stood my cellarette. By Jove, give you my word I was so devilish stupefied I couldn't bring out a word. I wasn't sure what was coming, and as I didn't want Billings' rest disturbed, I quietly closed the door of his room.
The old cock in the black pajamas had uncorked a bottle and was smelling its contents. He grimaced over his shoulder.
"That's infernally rotten Scotch, I say!" he exclaimed with a sort of snort. "Regular sell, by George!"
I was glad Billings didn't hear him, for it had been a present from him only the week before.
"Suppose I'll have to go the rye," he grumbled; and, grinning at me familiarly, he poured himself a drink. He tossed it off, neat. I reflected that perhaps he would go quietly now.
"Well," I said, advancing, "I expect you're anxious to get to your quarters, so I'll say good night." I extended my hand. "That ought to fetch him," I thought, "if he's a gentleman, no matter how jolly corked he may be."