He travelled all night, sleeping on the train, and got home to the training-house about nine the next morning. Worry was out, Scotty said, and the boys had all gone over to college. Ken went up-stairs and found Raymond in bed.
“Why, Kel, what's the matter?” asked Ken.
“I'm sick,” replied Kel. He was pale and appeared to be in distress.
“Oh, I'm sorry. Can't I do something? Get you some medicine? Call Murray?”
“Ken, don't call anybody, unless you want to see me disgraced. Worry got out this morning before he noticed my absence from breakfast. I was scared to death.”
“Scared? Disgraced?”
“Ken, I drank a little last night. It always makes me sick. You know I've a weak stomach.”
“Kel, you didn't drink, say you didn't!” implored Ken, sitting miserably down on the bed.
“Yes, I did. I believe I was half drunk. I can't stand anything. I'm sick, sick of myself, too, this morning. And I hate Graves.”
Ken jumped up with kindling eyes.