"Nay," said Cowen, "I drain no bottles at this time; one glass suffices me. I drink your health." He raised his glass.
Cutler grabbed the bottle and said, brutally, "And I'll drink yours!" and shut the door with a slam, but was too intent on his prize to lock it.
Cowen sat and listened.
He heard the wine gurgle, and the drunkard draw a long breath of delight.
Then there was a pause; then a snatch of song, rather melodious and more articulate than Mr. Cutler's recent attempts at discourse.
Then another gurgle and another loud "Ah!"
Then a vocal attempt, which broke down by degrees.
Then a snore.
Then a somnolent remark—"All right!"
Then a staggering on to his feet. Then a swaying to and fro, and a subsiding against the door.