Chapter Forty Three.
Awakening to the Worst.
Geoffrey Trethick, as the servants had said, rose from the place where he was lying, and stood trying to think; but his brain seemed out of gear, and all he could master was the idea that he was not in a fit state to be at An Morlock. Consequently he groped his way out, staggered along the drive, and began to make for the hotel in a vague, erratic fashion, greatly to the amusement of such people as he met.
Fortunately for him about the sixth person he encountered was Amos Pengelly, who limped up, looking at him with a curious expression of disgust upon his countenance.
“‘Wine is a mocker,’” he muttered; “‘strong drink is raging.’ He’s been trying to forget it all.”
The stout miner hesitated for a moment, and then took and drew Geoffrey’s arm through his own, supporting his uncertain steps, and leading him straight to the hotel, where they were refused entrance.
“No,” said Mrs Polwinno, the landlady; “Mr Trethick had better take his favours somewhere else;” and Mr Polwinno, her little plump, mild husband, nodded his head, and said, “Exactly so, my dear.”
Amos Pengelly frowned, and the disgust he felt grew so strong that he was ready to loosen his hold upon Geoffrey, and leave him to his fate.