“You have soaked too much brandy, my friend,” replied Raine. “That doesn't require much 'fixing up.' Anyhow, the next time you want to go on the drink, please do it when I am not there.”
“Quite right,” said Hockmaster, rolling his head towards him with a portentous air. “You're disgusted at my being drunk—so'm I—But thatsh not the question. I felt sort of mean, like the chewed end of a cigar, and I tried to gargle the feeling away. But it wasn't my fault.”
“Well, never mind,” said Raine, with a smile. “Don't do it again.”
“You bet your bottom dollar I don't. The man who puts his head twice into the Divorce Court deserves to be shot sitting.”
Raine was startled. What was the man driving at?
“You see, I guess I ought to have married her afterwards,” continued Hockmaster. “But those mines I told you of carried me down to Mexico. Now when a man's got a blaze at a million of dollars he can't afford to be fooling around after a woman. She can wait, but the dollars won't. That's what I was trying to fix up to tell you—as a real friend.”
“Tell me to-morrow,” said Raine, preparing to rise. “Let us get home now.”
He had no desire to hear the tipsy details of Hockmaster's past life. But the American put detaining hands on his arm and shoulders, in familiar confidence.
“I want your opinion—I seduced her from her husband, and didn't marry her after the divorce, and when I saw her this evening for the first time after eight years—”
Raine leaped to his feet with a horrible surmise.