The effect was immense. For a moment Tommy remained perfectly still, his mouth open, his eyes almost starting out of his head. Then quite suddenly he sat down heavily on the couch, clutching a bottle of whisky in one hand and a tumbler in the other.
"Well, I'm damned!" he whispered.
"Never mind, Tommy," I said cheerfully; "you'll be in the very best society."
CHAPTER XIII
REGARDING MR. BRUCE LATIMER
For perhaps a second Tommy remained motionless; then sitting up he removed the cork, and poured himself out about a quarter of a tumbler of neat spirit. He drained this off at a gulp, and put down both the glass and the bottle.
"God deliver us!" he observed; "is it really you?"
I nodded. "What's left of me, Tommy."
He jumped to his feet, and the next moment he was crushing my hands with a grip that would have broken some people's fingers. "You old ruffian!" he muttered; "I always said you'd do something like this. Lord alive, it's good to see you, though!" Then, pulling me up out of the chair, he caught me by the shoulders and stared incredulously into my face. "But what the devil's happened? What have you done to yourself?"
"I know what I'm going to do to myself," I replied. "I am going to get outside some of that drink you were talking about—if there's any left."