"Say, wassa matter?" broke in Certina Charley, in concern; "you look sick."
"Never mind me. You go on and tell me the truth about this thing."
"I guess I been talkin' too much," muttered Certina Charley, dismayed. He gulped down the last of his champagne with a tremulous hand. "This's my second bottle," he explained. "An' brandy in between. Say, I thought you knew all about the business."
"I know enough about it now so that I've got to know the rest."
"You—you won't gimme away to the Chief? I didn't mean to show up his game. I'm—I'm pretty strong for the old boy, myself."
"I won't give you away. Go on."
"Whaddye want to know, else?"
"Is there anything that Certina is good for?"
"Sure! Didn't I tell you? It's the finest bracer—"
"As a cure?"