“No—no,” said Andy quickly. “I don’t drink anything stronger than soft stuff—you know it, Dunk.”
For a moment there was a silence in the room. Andy felt himself growing pale.
“You—you won’t drink with me?” asked Dunk slowly.
“I’d like to—but I can’t—I don’t touch it.”
“He’s a quitter!” cried Mortimer, angrily, from the other side of the table. “A rank quitter! He won’t drink his own toast!”
“Won’t you drink with me, Andy?” asked Dunk, in sorrowful tones.
“In soft stuff—yes.”
“No, in the real stuff!”
“I can’t!”
“Then, by Cæsar, you are a quitter, and here’s where you and I part company!”