An' some——
"Shut up, you drunken fool!" said Carter, furiously.
"Oh," said Jimsy, blinking his eyes rapidly, bowing deeply. "Ladies present. I shee. My mishtake. My mishtake, ladies! Well, guesh I go sleep now. Come on. Yac', put me to bed 'fore you go. Give you lil' treat. All work'n no play makes Yac' a dull boy!" He roared over his own wit. The Indian, his face impassive, had risen to his feet and now Jimsy cast himself into his arms and insisted on kissing him good-night, clinging all the while to the decanter with its half inch of whisky.
Carter wrenched it away from him. "You'll kill yourself," he said, in cold disgust.
"Well," said his friend, reasonably, "ishn't that the big idea? Wouldn' you razzer drink yourself to death'n die of thirst?"
They were making for the door now in a zigzag course, and when they passed Honor, Jimsy stayed their progress. He held out his hand and spoke to her, but he did not meet her eyes. "Gimme ring," he said, crossly.
"What do you mean?" said Honor.
"Gimme back ring ... busted word ... busted engagement ... want ring anyway ... maybe nozzer girl ... you can't tell!" His hoarse voice rose querulously. "Gimme ring, I shay!"
Honor shrank back from him against Mrs. King. "Jimsy," she said, "when the boy that gave me this ring comes and asks me for it, he can have it. You can't!"
His legs seemed to give way beneath him, at that, and Yaqui Juan half led, half dragged him out of the room.