Roberts, taking out his handkerchief and wiping his forehead: “Well, thank Heaven! we’re rid of him at last.”
Campbell: “I’m not so sure of that. He’ll probably miss the train. You may be sure Mrs. McIlheny is waiting for him outside of it, and then we shall have them both on our hands indefinitely. We shall have to explain and explain. Fiction has entirely failed us, and I feel that the truth is giving way under our feet. I’ll tell you what, Roberts!”
Roberts, in despair: “What?”
Campbell: “Why, if McIlheny should happen to come back alone, we mustn’t wait for him to renew his invitation to drink; we must take him out ourselves, and get him drunk; so drunk he can’t remember anything; stone drunk; dead drunk. Or, that is, you must. I haven’t got anything to do with him. I wash my hands of the whole affair.”
Roberts: “You mustn’t, Willis! You know I can’t manage without you. And you know I can’t take the man out and get him drunk. I couldn’t. I shouldn’t feel that it was right.”
Campbell: “Yes, I know. You’d have to drink with him; and you’ve got no head at all. You’d probably get drunk first, and I don’t know what I should say to Agnes.”
Roberts: “That isn’t the point, Willis. I couldn’t ask the man to drink; I should consider it immoral. Besides, what should you do if the cook came while I was away? You wouldn’t know her.”
Campbell: “Well, neither would you, if you stayed.”
Roberts: “That’s true. There doesn’t seem to be any end of it, or any way out of it. I must just stay and bear it.”
Campbell: “Of course you must stay. And when McIlheny comes back, you’d better ask him out to look upon the wine when it is red.”