“You are—and you’ve got to pull yourself together. See?”
Eliphalet blinked, then sat upright.
“Good God!” he exclaimed. “D’you sugges’ I’m drunk?”
“I know it—and what’s more, the audience’ll know it, too, if you aren’t jolly careful.”
The old actor rose to his feet, his face working as under a great emotion.
“You dare say that t’me! I—I’m a tee-to-tootler—for twenty—twenty-five years. Loathe drink—nev’ touch it. I’m—I’m one—one—”
“You’re one of the rowdy-dowdy boys to-night,” cut in Mr. Dyson crisply.
The fog descended again, and Eliphalet swayed on the back of the chair.
“Tha’s it,” he said. “One of the dowdy boys—all in a row.”
Mr. Dyson flung open the door, shouting: