Billy led the way. "There he is!" he said. "He is drunk again."
On a dirty mattress in a corner lay a sleeping man who appeared to be strong and well.
Billy was right. You could not awake him. He had gone the limit, and a little beyond. He was now facing eternity.
Sinton went out and closed the door.
"Your father is sick and needs help," he said. "You stay here, and I will send a man to see him."
"If you just let him 'lone, he'll sleep it off," volunteered Billy. "He's that way all the time, but he wakes up and gets us something to eat after a while. Only waitin' twists you up inside pretty bad."
The boy wore no air of complaint. He was merely stating facts.
Wesley Sinton looked hard at Billy. "Are you twisted up inside now?" he asked.
Billy laid a grimy hand on the region of his stomach and the filthy little waist sank close to the backbone. "Bet yer life, boss," he said cheerfully.
"How long have you been twisted?" asked Sinton.
Billy appealed to the others. "When was it we had the stuff on the bridge?"
"Yesterday morning," said the girl.
"Is that all gone?" asked Sinton.
"She went and told us to take it home," said Billy ruefully, "and 'cause she said to, we took it. Pa had come back, he was drinking some more, and he ate a
