"Where am I?" he said, blinking at the light.
He rose uncertainly to his feet and stared about the room in returning consciousness.
"Where's the girls?" he asked.
"Gone," said Conward, sulkily. "Couldn't expect 'em to stick around all night to say good bye, could you, and you sleeping off your drunk?"
Dave raised his hand to his head. A sense of disgrace was already upon him. Then he suddenly turned in anger on Conward.
"You put this up on me," he cried. "You made a fool of me. I've a mind to bash your skull in for you."
"Don't be silly," Conward retorted. "I didn't enjoy it any more than you did—introducing you as my friend, and then have you go out like that. Why didn't you tip me? I didn't know it would put you to sleep."
"Neither did I," said Dave.
"Well, the next thing is to get you home. Can you walk?"
"Sure." Dave started for the door, but his course suddenly veered, and he found himself leaning over a chair. Conward helped him into his overcoat, and half led, half shoved him to his boarding house.