"Excuse me," I said. "Don't you think the caviare is a trifle——?"
He made a gesture of determination.
"Harden, we will try champagne."
He filled two glasses.
"Let us drink off the whole glass," he said. "Really, Harden, we must try."
I managed to take two gulps. The stuff was nasty. It seemed like weak methylated spirits.
"Continue," said Sarakoff firmly; "let us drink ourselves into the glorious past, whither the wizard of alcohol transports all men."
I took two more gulps. Sarakoff did the same. It was something in the nature of a battle against an invisible resistance. I gripped the table hard with my free hand, and took another gulp.
"Sarakoff," I gasped. "I can't take any more. If you want to get alcohol into my system you must inject it under my skin. I can't do it this way."
He put down his glass. It was half full. There were beads of perspiration on his brow.