When her husband entered the room she was lying flat on her back, grasping the handle of the pitcher, her eyes closed, and her breathing stertorious. Althea, alarmed, stood over her, crying and screaming.
"The old woman's taken too much," said Donovan. "Get up, you divil!" he shouted, leaning over his matrimonial partner. "Ain't you ashamed of yourself, now?"
Mrs. Donovan opened her eyes, and stared at him vacantly.
"Where am I?" she inquired.
"On your back, you old fool, where you deserve to be."
"It's the whisky," murmured the fallen lady.
"Of course it is. Why can't you drink dacent like me? Shure it's a purty example you're settin' to the child. Ain't you ashamed to lie here in a hape before them gintlemen?"
This called Althea's attention to the German and Dan. In spite of Dan's disguise, she recognized him with a cry of joy.
"Oh, Dan! have you come to take me away?" she exclaimed, dashing past Donovan, and clasping her arms round the supposed Italian.
