“Gimme tha’ bottle; gotta have another drink,” blurted Kemp, lunging toward Trenton.
“Not another drop!” said Trenton, passing the bottle to Grace, who ran with it to the dining room and told Jerry to hide it. Kemp, caught in Trenton’s arms, drew back and stared, grinning stupidly in his befuddlement at the legerdemain by which the bottle had eluded him.
“Tommy’s a naughty boy,” said Irene. “He’s nasty when he’s drunk. Hands off!” she cried as Kemp again menaced her. “Don’t you dare touch me!”
“Not goin’ home. Never goin’ home. Goin’ to shtay right here,” declared Kemp, tottering as he attempted to assume an attitude of defiance.
The Japanese boy had brought in the tea tray and was lighting the kettle-lamp.
“Everythin’s goin’ fine,” Kemp continued, indicating the tray with a flourish. “Have nice chat over teacups—hiccups—tea-cups—joke, ha, ha! Guests drink tea; host drink whisk—key—thass thirty year ole, Ward. Can’t change drinks; always makes me sick change drinks. Where’s tha’ bottle?”
“You’ve spoiled everything by getting drunk,” said Irene viciously. “You’re going home. You know what you told me the other night at Minnie’s. Your doctor’s warned you to cut out the booze or you’ll die. Your heart won’t stand it.”
Kemp turned toward her slowly, opening and closing his eyes in the effort to comprehend this statement. He was very white; Trenton was watching him with deep concern.
“Nothin’ the matter with me. Jus’ foolin’ ’bout doctor. Hadda get lil’ sympathy out o’ Irene.”
“I’ll put you to bed, Tommy,” said Trenton. “A nap will pull you out of this.”