"It's the dispensary spirits that he gets at," Mr. Ponting said. "That's the trouble."
(And it always had been.)
"The queer thing is," said Ranny, "that you never fairly see him tight. Not to speak of."
"That's the worst of it," said Mr. Ponting. "I wish I could see your father tight—tumbling about a bit, I mean, and being funny. The beastly stuff's going for him inside, all the time—undermining him. There isn't an organ," said Mr. Ponting, solemnly, "in your father's body that it hasn't gone for."
"How d'you know?"
"Why, by the medicines he takes. He's giving himself strophanthus now, for his heart."
"I say—d'you think my mother knows that?"
"It's impossible to say what your mother knows. More than she lets on, I shouldn't be surprised."
Mr. Ponting pondered.
"It's wonderful how he keeps it up. His dignity, I mean."