"Drink it down! I swear it's all right."
He tossed off the water.
"Give me my pants. I want to get out of here."
"Why, wasn't that whiskey that I just gave you?"
"Yes, yes ... but not very good stuff. I know where I can get better."
Humouring him, I helped him into his trousers ... painfully he put on his shirt, neatly tied his tie, while I steadied him. This manual function seemed to better his condition straightway. He startled me by turning to me with a look of amused recognition in his eyes. He was no longer off his head, just a very sick man.
"Well, Johnnie, so you're back again?"
"Yes, Pop—back again!"
"What are you going to do next?" he queried wearily, seating himself laboriously in an armchair.
"Stay, and take care of you!"