McIlheny: “I did, sor.”
Roberts, basely truckling to him: “It was certainly a ludicrous position.”
Campbell: “And when we explained it, it amused your good lady too. She laughed as much as yourself—”
McIlheny: “She did, sor. Ye’re right. Sure it would make a cow laugh. Well, gintlemen, ye must excuse me. Mrs. McIlheny says I mustn’t stop for the next thrain, and I’ll have to ask you to join me in that glass of wine some other toime.”
Campbell: “Oh, it’s all right, Mr. McIlheny. You’ve only got about half a minute.” He glances at the clock, and McIlheny runs out, profusely waving his hand in adieu.
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.”