Ferrier, who had nearly fallen forward, tried to strike out with his foot, but Archie’s grip, nerveless yet clinging as a limpet, held him fast.
“A’ tell ye, a’ll nae gang hame wantin’ Annie!” he repeated more loudly.
“He has me by the foot, damn him!” said Ferrier.
James swore quietly but distinctly.
“Annie! Annie!” roared Archie, making the silent close echo again.
“Great heavens!” exclaimed the exasperated James, “we shall have the whole town out of bed if this goes on! Shake him off, man, and let us be going.”
He bent down as he spoke and groping in the darkness, found Flemington’s heels. He seized them and began to drag him backwards as a man drags a fighting dog. He had a grip of iron.
The effect of the sudden pull on Ferrier was to make him lose his balance. He staggered against the side of the close, calling to Logie to desist.
Archie still held on with back-boneless tenacity; but as the scrape of flint and steel cut the darkness, he knew that he had carried his superfluous pleasantries too far. He dared not loose Ferrier’s ankle and roll to the wall, lest the action should prove him to be more wideawake and less intoxicated than he seemed. He could only bury his face in his sleeve.
His next sensation was a violent stab of burning pain in his wrist that made him draw it back with a groan.