"An' since 'twas very dear we drank only ginger beer,
Faith, there must ha' been some stingo in the ginger!"
Come back, you maniac. I'm going to take you home, and you're going to lie down.
Captain G.—What on earth do I want to lie down for?
Captain M.—Give me a light from your cheroot and see.
Captain G. (watching cheroot-butt quiver like a tuning-fork). Sweet state I'm in!
Captain M.—You are. I'll get you a peg, and you'll go to sleep.
They return, and M. compounds a four-finger peg.
Captain G.—O, that's twice too much. It'll make me as drunk as an owl.
Captain M.—Curious thing, 'twon't have the slightest effect on you. Drink it off, chuck yourself down there, and go to bye-bye.
Captain G.—It's absurd. I shan't sleep. I know I shan't!
Falls into heavy doze at end of seven minutes. Captain M. watches him tenderly.
Captain M.—Poor old Gaddy! I've seen a few turned off before, but never one who went to the gallows in this condition. Can't tell how it affects 'em, though. It's the thorough-breds that sweat when they're backed into double-harness. . . . And that's the man who went through the guns at Amdheran like a devil possessed of devils. (Leans over G.) But this is worse than the guns, old pal—worse than the guns, isn't it? (G. turns in his sleep, and M. touches him clumsily on the forehead.) Poor, dear old Gaddy! Going like the rest of 'em—going like the rest of 'em. . . . Friend that sticketh closer than a brother. . . . eight years. Dashed bit of a slip of a girl. . . . eight weeks! And where's your friend? (Smokes disconsolately till Church clock strikes three.)
Captain M.—Up with you! Get into your things.
Captain G.—Already? Isn't it too soon? Hadn't I better have a shave?
Captain M.—No! You're all right. (Aside.) He'd hack his chin to pieces.
