“Yes, it does happen, of course,” assented one of the skinflints; “a man gets half smashed, and nobody’s to blame.”
“Exactly so,” said the tradesman; “maybe something of that kind has happened to you?”
But the skinflint only growled, lifted his saucer to his lips, and made no answer.
“Do you mean,” said one of the officers to the giant, “that anything of that kind has happened to you?”
“Not only ‘that kind,’ but such a thing happened to me, that I think if I’d given way to my feelings I should have come to grief altogether....”
“What was it all about?”
“That’s just exactly what I can’t tell you!... What did the lad smash the old man’s head about? There you are—it’s the same thing here. You see, it’s a sort of thing——”
The giant broke off, and began more composedly:—
“The main reason.... First of all, I must tell you about my illness. You see what sort of a stomach I’ve got!...”
“You surely don’t mean to say that a stomach could play any part in an affair of that kind?” interrupted one of the officers.