"Thinks I'm drunk, does he!" exclaimed Anthony, scowling after him. "Well, what the devil—so I am, damned d-drunk and so much the better—"
"So much the worse, Anthony!"
"Tush, you talk like a fool, Perry; better be drunk and forget than be sober and a s-suicide—felo—felo-de-se, buried at cross road—stake through your inside—devilish unpleasant business—"
"You talk like a madman, Anthony."
"And you like a f-fool, Perry! Here's you come back t' life like a fool, instead o' dying comfortably and respectably like—wise man. Here's you hoping and yearning to marry and that's the damndest folly of all. Much better be comfortably dead—"
"For shame, Anthony—for shame!" cried I angrily. "If you have so lost respect for yourself—at least think of and respect your wife—"
"Wife!" he exclaimed. "My wife!" and springing up out of the chair I saw him tower above me, clenched hands upflung, his comely features distorted and horribly suffused; then he lurched to the window and leaned, choking, from the lattice. Suddenly his bowed shoulders began to heave, and I heard him laugh in dreadful manner and when he turned his look was demoniac.
"Egad, but you will have your joke, eh, Perry, and devilish funny—aye, devilish! My wife, says you—ha! ha! says I. You're drunk, says you—I am, says I—so I can laugh, d'ye see—"
"Anthony!" I cried, rising from my chair. "O Anthony, here's more than drink—dear fellow, in God's name, what is it?" And I grasped at him with weak but insistent hands.
For a moment he made as if to throw me off, then his long arm was about me, his head bowed upon my shoulder, and when he spoke his voice had lost its wild, mad ring.