He went out. There was a peculiar note in the monosyllable of his answer which made me look up.
"Good chap," said Chaplin flatly, as Lawson went out of the door into the sunshine. "One of the best. Pity he drinks."
This from Chaplin was an observation not without humour.
"And when he's drunk he wants to fight people."
"Is he often drunk?"
"Dead drunk, three or four days a week. It's the island done it, and Ethel."
"Who's Ethel?"
"Ethel's his wife. Married a half-caste. Old Brevald's daughter. Took her away from here. Only thing to do. But she couldn't stand it, and now they're back again. He'll hang himself one of these days, if he don't drink himself to death before. Good chap. Nasty when he's drunk."
Chaplin belched loudly.
"I'll go and put my head under the shower. I oughtn't to have had that last cocktail. It's always the last one that does you in."