"Sure you are," assented Griffith. "What's more, you're sober enough now to know that our game is your game. Own up. Don't lie."
Blake looked down morosely, and for a long quarter of a minute his friends waited in anxious suspense. At last, without looking up, he held out his empty glass for Lord James to refill it. The second battle was won.
As Lord James took the glass, Griffith interposed. "Hold on. We'll keep that for later. I've something else now."
"More dope!" growled Blake.
"No, good stuff to offset the effects of the poison you've been swilling since morning. Next course is bromide of potassium."
"Take your medicine, bo!" chimed in Lord James.
"Ugh!" groaned Blake. "Dish it out, then. Only don't forget. You know, well as I do, that if the craving comes on that bad again, I'm bound to have a drink. I tell you, I can't help myself. I've told you about it time and again. It's hell till I get enough aboard to make me forget. You know I don't like the stuff. I've hated the very smell of it since before my first real spree."
Griffith shot a significant glance at Lord James. "That's all right, Tommy,—we understand how it is. But we've got hold of it this time. You'll never quit if you can help it, and we know now you can help it, with this quassia to keep your throat from sizzling. Here's your bromide."
Blake gulped down the dose, but muttered despondently: "What's the use?
You know you can't head me off for keeps, once I'm as far under way as
I've got to-day. Think you're going to stop me now, do you?"
"That's what," rejoined Griffith. "You'll think the same in about ten minutes. I'm going to talk to you like a Dutch uncle."