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.
Suddenly the mist lifted from Joe’s brain and he remembered. It came to him like an electric shock. He was to be married!
He stumbled to the door and flung it open. It was dark out there, the street deserted. Wonderingly he looked at his watch.
Eleven o’clock!
Slowly he went back to the bed and sat down, holding his head in his hands. What night was it? he wondered. Was it the night of his marriage—or the night before? No, it couldn’t be the night before. He remembered everything. And now he remembered that Honey was wearing a white collar. Nothing but a marriage or a funeral would cause Honey to wear a white collar.
He felt nauseated, dry-throated. What had he done? There was a light in the Pinnacle Saloon; so he went over there. The cool night air revived him a little, but his legs did not track very well.
Honey and Len were at the bar, talking with the bartender, when Joe came in.
“Gosh, you shore look like the breakin’ up of a hard winter, pardner,” observed Honey.