But Jim was lost in his own wild thoughts.
“Yes, and he’s good company, too, Peter,” he cried. “Devilish good.” He laughed at his own humor. “The harder you play the harder and more merrily he’ll dance. We’ve got one life. The trail’s marked out for us. And, by gum, we’ll live while we can. Why should we sweat and toil, and have it squeezed out of us whenever––they think fit? I’ll spend every dollar I make. I’ll have all that life can give me. I’ll pick the fruit within my reach. I’ll do as the devil, or my stomach, guides me. I’ll have my time–––”
“And then?”
Jim sat down. He was smiling, but the smile was unreal.
“Then? Why, I’ll go right down and out, and they can kick my carcase out to the town ‘dumps.’”
Peter nodded again.
“Let’s begin now,” he said, with staggering abruptness. And he pointed at the bottle in Jim’s pocket.
“Eh?” the other was startled.
“Let’s begin now,” Peter said, with his calm smile. “You’re good company, Jim. Where you go, I’ll travel, too––if it’s to hell.”