Joe lifted himself on one elbow and stared at the lamp. He blinked owlishly and looked at Honey. Joe’s eyes were bloodshot and he breathed jerkily.
“Whatcha mean?” he asked.
“Do you know what night this is?” asked Honey.
Joe squinted one eye thoughtfully.
“What night? What⸺” he sank back on the pillow and shut his eyes.
“Pretty sick,” observed Len. “Better let him sleep it off.”
“Oh, I suppose,” said Honey.
He threw some covers over Joe and they went out together, after turning the lamp down low.
But Joe did not go back to sleep. His head ached and his throat was so dry he could hardly swallow. Finally he got out of bed and staggered over to the table, where he turned up the lamp.
For several minutes he stood against the table, rubbing his head and trying to puzzle things out. On a chair near the bed was a white shirt and collar, gleaming white in the light of the lamp. On the floor was a new pair of shoes.