“No,” said Quixtus. “I haven’t. And if I had, I wouldn’t give it to you.”
The reprobate pondered darkly over the announcement. Then he hiccoughed, and his face brightened.
“Look here, dear old frien’——”
Quixtus interrupted him.
“Do you mean to tell me those other men are drunk too?”
“As owls—you go down—see ’em.”
He threw back his head and broke out into sudden shrill laughter. Then, checking himself, he said with an awful gravity;
“I beg your pardon, Quishtus. Their conduc’s disgrace—humanity.”
“You three have dined in this house once a week for years, and no one has left it the worse for liquor. And now, the first time I leave you to yourselves—I was really not able to join you to-night—you take advantage of my absence, and——”
Huckaby staggered to his feet and tried to lay his hand on Quixtus’s shoulder. Having recovered himself, he put it on top of a case of prehistoric implements.