"He's never drunk."
"Well, you know what I mean. He can never do himself justice now, unless he's had what would make any one of us incapable."
"Yes, but that kind of thing can't last. No constitution could stand it. In time it'll destroy his nerves, and then——"
"Yes, it's a pity."
The waiter brought the young man a large measure of whisky and a bottle of soda-water. He poured a small quantity of soda into the whisky. His hand was steady and he did not seem to be in the least affected by what he had drunk.
He lifted the glass to his lips and nearly drained it. Then he sat back in the chair and closed his eyes.
"I should think he will soon be asleep, now," whispered one.
"Not he."
"It's an awful pity. Don't you think one ought to try and warn him?"
"Try it. I would not like to."