“That it ain’t, sir! I never touched a drop!” cried Jerry, indignantly. “Don’t, sir! You hurt me!”
“Hurt you? Yes, you dog, I mean to! You hurt me pretty well! Why, you’re as drunk as a piper!”
“Tell you I ain’t, sir!” cried Jerry. “I took four cups o’ coffee to keep me awake. That’s all. But—but, Mr Lacey, sir, didn’t you do it? Didn’t you hurt yourself?—didn’t—didn’t—”
“‘Didn’t—didn’t’—don’t stammer and stutter like that! Confound you! What do you mean by dragging me out of bed in this way? You must have been at the spirits!”
“Tell you I haven’t!” roared Jerry, indignantly. “It’s taking a man’s character away, sir!”
“Then what do you mean by seizing me like this?”
“I heard a noise, sir—I thought you’d been losing money all night to Mr Frayne, sir, and that you’d shot yourself, sir—with your pistol, sir. Ain’t yer, sir?”
“I shot myself? Pistol? Why, Brigley, you must be tipsy!”
“Which I ain’t, sir; indeed, I ain’t!” protested Jerry. “But are you really all right, sir? I heered a horful bang.”
“I’m so stupidly confused and sleepy, I hardly know,” said Lacey. “I suppose I must have rolled off the bed.”