Kenny obeyed. His eyes were sympathetic,
"Well," said Adam in muffled tones, "it isn't Irish. It's Robin Adair and it came from Scotland."
But his voice was tired.
Kenny rummaged in the closet for his brandy.
"There are times," said Adam queerly, "when you've an open-hearted, understanding way about you. I believe you even know why I get drunk."
"Yes," said Kenny, "I think I do."
Adam dropped hack limply in his chair.
"It's because," he whispered, "I've—got—to—sleep!"
Startled at his manner, Kenny remembered the fairy mill and wondered.