The last few days had wrought a desperate change in his looks. Caverns had sunk in his cheeks and his eyes were ringed with black. That he stood in earnest need of a shave heightened the pallor of brow and temples.
He was seated, cramped rather, in an upright chair with chin down. His left hand beat a tattoo on the table top and he sucked the thumb of his right hand like a badly trained child at a make-belief meal.
"Taste good?" asked Hipps. "If I'd known you'd a fancy that way I'd have brought along a soother."
Richard removed his thumb and said, "Go to Hell!" very distinctly.
Hipps walked a few paces toward him and remarked:
"Still pretty fresh, I see."
"Leaking badly, but still afloat," came the reply.
"Durn me! but you're a sound citizen, Bud. I respect sand but I despise a fool."
"All right you do," mumbled Richard sleepily.
"Pretty tired?"