“Yes,” he said, “that is so.”
“And you’ve got dozens of similar bottles about. Let’s see, you’ve got something in your bathroom too.”
Stratton made no reply, but stood gazing away from his friend.
“Wits wandering again,” thought Guest. “Never mind, I did get him a little more like himself.” Then aloud:
“I say, Mal.”
Stratton turned upon him sharply.
“Wouldn’t do to have a fire; why, you’d burn up poor old Brettison too.”
Stratton’s face looked as if it had been carved in stone.
“Such a collection, too, as he has spent years of his life in getting together.”
“Come away, now,” said Stratton hoarsely, as he raised his hand once more to turn out the lamp.