He drank thirstily and put down the glass.
"Tastes bitter; too much resin in the wine, or perhaps it's imagination."
He lifted the glass but stopped and threw the rest of the liquor on the
pavement. "Reckon I've had enough. About the meanest drink I've struck.
Give me a cigar. The taste stops in my mouth."
Kit gave him a cigar, but after a few minutes he threw it away.
"I don't feel much better and think I'll go to my room. You might come along; the stairs are steep."
He got up awkwardly and leaned upon the table, breathing rather hard while big drops of sweat started from his forehead. "This confounded ague grips me tight. Don't know when I've felt so shaky. Better give me your arm."
They started, and keeping in the shadow, reached the outside stairs without exciting much curiosity, but Kit felt disturbed. Adam went up slowly, stopping now and then, and stumbled across the balcony at the top. Bright moonlight shone into the bare room, where a small lamp burned, and Kit saw that Adam's face was wet.
"Leave me alone," he said. "You can come back by and by and see how I'm getting on."
Kit did not want to go, but gave way when Adam insisted. He met the president soon afterwards.
"Where is Don Adam?" the latter asked.
Kit told him and added that his uncle had seemed to get worse after drinking some wine.