“‘Tain’t no use,” said he, thickly; “‘tain’t no use.”
And he leered and laughed.
The perspiring and indignant politicians grasped him—Slugby and William Condor under the arms, Belch on one side, and Ele ready to help any where. They raised their friend to his feet, while his head rolled slowly round from one side to the other, with a maudlin grin.
“‘Tain’t no use,” he said.
Indeed, when they had him fairly on his feet nothing further seemed to be possible. They were all holding him and looking very angry, while they heard the loud and imperative—“Newt! Newt! Newt!” accompanied with unequivocal signs of impatience in an occasional stone or chip that rattled against the blinds.
In the midst of it all the form of the drunken man slipped back upon the sofa, and sitting there leaning on his hands, which rested on his knees, and with his head heavily hanging forward, he lifted his forehead, and, seeing the utterly discomfited group standing perplexed before him, he said, with a foolish smile,
“Let’s all sit down.”
There was a moment of hopeless and helpless inaction. Then suddenly General Belch laid his hands upon the sofa on which Abel was lying, and moved it toward the window.
“Now,” cried he to the others, “open the blinds, and we’ll make an end of it.”
Enos Slugby raised the window and obeyed. The crowd below, seeing the opening blinds and the lights, shouted lustily.