“I have been desperately ill,” was his almost rational response.
“Bravo,” was Marrion’s mental comment, “so far, so good.” Now, if she would only allow him to be quiet; but who ever saw a woman tire of asking questions, and who ever saw a drunken man that did not have a tongue for all ten of the heads he imagined he had?
Cherokee chimed in again:
“I have been very uneasy about you. You know I expected you home by ten.”
“Ten! Fifty would be more like it. I know I took that money.”
“What do you mean, Robert?” she asked, as she stared at him, amazed and wounded.
“He means nothing, he is flighty; that’s the way the medicine affects one,” Marrion explained.
“I tell you she is deucedly pretty”—with this Robert calmed down for awhile.
“He is surely out of his head, Mr. Latham.”
“No, I am not,” thundered Robert, “I should feel better if I were,” and all at once he came to his senses.