“It’s the fifteenth, too. You know what that means, don’t you?”
“Fifteenth?” Hooker lifted his head, making a futile attempt to hold it steady. “What’s—that——”
“This is inspection day, Hooker. You knew it. The city inspector is below, in Forty-six. He’ll be here in another hour. You’ve got to brace up. Understand me? I’ll make you some hot coffee, and you take it down black.”
“’S’all right,” the foreman gulped. “Don’t worry. I’m—I’m not drunk. I’ve fooled ’em before—sure I have.” His head fell back upon the pillow, and he mumbled something to himself.
“If they find you in this condition, you know what it’ll mean, Hooker.”
Nash busied himself right away, leaving the foreman in charge of another man, while he hurried over to the kitchen and got a can of strong, black coffee.
“Get this down, Hooker,” he commanded firmly.
The foreman, who apparently had aroused himself to the necessity of immediate action, took a deep draft of the coffee.
“Ah-h!” he breathed finally. “That’s good. I’ll—be all—right. Jus’ let me—sleep for a few minutes.”
He fell asleep at once. Meanwhile, Nash joined the supper crowd, ate his meal in silence, and promptly returned to where the foreman was slumbering.