I gazed at him in astonishment, and he tried to recover under my eyes.
"That's not your first glass," said I.
He did not deny it. "I can't go on without it. Let me alone, doctor; for heaven's sake let me alone."
I gave him up. "Well, if you are going to obfuscate yourself in this foolish manner," I said, my voice disclosing my contempt, "at least take my advice and don't lock yourself in. None but hysterical women do that."
I was closing the door when he put a hand out.
"Doctor, doctor...." I paused, and he looked at me piteously. "Could you give me a sleeping draught?"
"If you'll leave that alone, I will," I said; and I returned to my cabin and brought some sulphonal tabloids.
"This will do you less harm than whisky," I said. "Now buck up and be a man, Pye."
He thanked me and stood looking at me. His hands nervously adjusted his glasses on his nose. He took one of the tabloids and shakily lifted his whisky and water to wash it down his throat. He coughed and sputtered, and with a shiver turned away from me. He lifted the glass again and drained it.
"Good-bye, doctor—good-night, I mean," he said hoarsely, with his back still to me. "I'm all right. I think I shall go to sleep now."