"Now, here's just the place for me," cried Chris, pushing the door open and going in.
Walter, though he felt more uncomfortable than ever, saw no choice but to follow.
"Me and my pal wants a glass of beer," said Chris loudly, throwing down a sixpence with the air of one who had plenty more.
"No, I don't want any, thanks, Chris," interrupted Walter hastily.
"Then you can go without," answered Christopher, deeply offended. "I'm not going to offer it to you again, nor anything else either, you great hulking killjoy."
He drank off his own beer, and then had some more, and some more again.
Walter began to feel really frightened now, for Chris was one of those childish people who, having once begun drinking, cannot stop themselves from taking more than is good for them.
But on this occasion, to his comrade's surprise, he did stop before long.
"It's no good for me to try and persuade him," thought Walter; "it 'ud only make him go the other way. I wish I hadn't gone with him; it's quite spoilt my day. I didn't get a holiday and come all this way from home just to spend the afternoon in a stuffy public-house, nor on the pavement outside, neither. It's six o'clock—there's the clock striking.—Chris, we shall only just get back to the palace in time to meet Mr. Richardson," he said aloud, beginning to walk very fast. "You know he's got all the tickets—we can't go without him."
"All right—plenty o' time," rejoined Chris, speaking rather thickly, and lagging behind in a most irritating way.