"Ratsh!"
"I remember," said McNab all at once. "I know what I want say. I'm going to leave it to Wookey. Wookey'll be the judge—referee—y'willin'?"
"Willin'."
"'M going to give moral lecture," said McNab rapidly, then paused and considered a long while. "I'm fond of Stover, Wookey, very fond—very worried, too, want him to stop drinking—bad for him—bad for any one, but bad for him!"
Stover, who could still perceive the argument, laughed a disagreeable laugh.
"He's laughin' at me, Wookey," said McNab in a grieved voice. "He means by that insultin' laugh that I sometimes drink excess. I admit it; I'm not proud of it, but I admit it. But there's a difference, and here's where you ref'ree, judge. When I take 'n occasional glass, I drink to be happy, make others happy—y'understand, excesh of love for humanity, enjoy youth an' all that sort of thing, you know. That's the point—you're ref'ree. When Stover drinks he goes at in bad way, no love humanity, joy of youth. That's the point, y'understand. I want him to stop it, 'cause he's my friend, he's good infloonce—I'm bad example."
"You're my friend?" said Stover, overcome.
"You're besh friend."
"Shake hands."
"Shure."