Bruce sat motionless on the cabin with a face like a sheet. But Hunch waved his revolver jovially at the life-savers on the dock, and all the while they were creeping up the channel he sang profane songs at the top of his voice, pausing now and then for a drink. When they were fast to the dock, he floundered ashore and stood laughing at Billy, who was still clinging to the weather-stays. Bruce stepped up to him.
“Say, Hunch, don't you think you'd better quit drinking? The wedding's tonight, you know.”
“What right you got talkin' to me 'bout——”
“You're coming to the wedding, Hunch, ain't you?”
“I ain't goin' to no wedding. Get out o' here! Go on now.”
Bruce walked steadily and rapidly up the deck, and disappeared around the corner of a lumber-shed.
A few hours later Hunch came plunging out of a saloon, with two men who were afraid to decline his treats. It was dark, but when a certain carriage passed, he could see by the corner light that one of the occupants wore a white veil. So he went back into the saloon, and amused himself shooting patterns through the stove until he fell asleep over a box of sawdust. Then it was, and not before, that the discreet constable had him carted away to sober up at the county's expense.