A wild cry, a piercing whoop of pure joy, broke the summer stillness.
'Come and have a drink, old man!' babbled Nutty. 'This wants celebrating!' His face fell. 'Oh, I was forgetting! I'm on the wagon.'
'On the wagon?'
'Sworn off, you know. I'm never going to touch another drop as long as I live. I began to see things—monkeys!'
'I had a pal,' said Mr Nichols, sympathetically, 'who used to see kangaroos.'
Nutty seized him by the arm, hospitable though handicapped.
'Come and have a bit of bread and butter, or a slice of cake or something, and a glass of water. I want to tell you a lot more about Uncle Ira, and I want to hear all about your end of it. Gee, what a day!'
'"The maddest, merriest of all the glad New Year,"' assented Mr
Nichols. 'A slice of that old 'eighty-seven cake. Just the thing!'
25
Bill made his way along the swaying train to the smoking-car, which was almost empty. It had come upon him overwhelmingly that he needed tobacco. He was in the mood when a man must either smoke or give up altogether the struggle with Fate. He lit his pipe, and looked out of the window at Long Island racing past him. It was only a blur to him.