“Oh, what have I done? I don’t understand it. I must have been crazy. Am I crazy now—or dreaming? No, I’m not dreamin’; so I must be crazy. Dead drunk on my weddin’—oh, what’s the matter with the world, anyway?”
He stood in the middle of the saloon, his eyes shut, his face twisted with the pain of it all. He stumbled forward and would have fallen had not Honey grasped him.
“You better go and sleep on it, pardner,” advised Honey.
“Sleep? With this on my mind?”
“Well, yuh got drunk with it on yore mind.”
“Aw, don’t rub it in on him,” said the bartender. “Better have a drink, Joe. You sure need bracin’.”
“He don’t need any more drinks,” declared Honey. “Good gosh, he plumb reeks of it yet. What he needs is sleep.”
“Sleep?” Joe smiled crookedly. “Oh, what can I do? I feel like I was all dead, except my mind.”
“Come out to the ranch with me, Joe,” urged Honey.
“And face the Bellew family?”