"What did you drink?" I asked, after a pause.
"Maraschino, cognac, and clic," he answered, and a gesture of his hand and first finger showed he meant in the same glass. I laughed.
"What a mixture! No wonder you're mixed yourself!"
"Can't stand it!" he only muttered again.
"No, you must sit it out or sleep it off now," I said, getting up with a stretch. "Faina in good form?"
"Magnificent—Vic, you should have been there!"
"Thanks! yes, I think so!" I said, gathering up the precious pages from the floor and table and piling them on a console. I wanted to go and get my own breakfast, but the look of Howard's face, as it lay against the chair back, bloodless, and the colour of ashes, made me hesitate to leave him.
"Can I get you anything?" I said.
"No—help me into bed," he muttered, without opening his eyes, moving his head restlessly from side to side.
"Come along, then," I answered, bending over him; "here's my arm."