That night Bob's hands flew asunder with a jerk while we
were playing cards; the cards flew about; then he flung a decanter
violently into the fireplace, and sat down trembling and glaring. I
sprang to his side, and found that the sweat was running down his neck.
I pulled off his shoes--his socks were drenched! I said, "I thought
you'd get them, old fellow. Now, have some beef-tea, and I'll send right
away for a sleeping draught." Bob trembled still more.
"No beef-tea. I've had nothing these three days, as you know. It would
kill me to swallow." Then he said, in a horrible whisper, "The brute's
coming down the chimney again. There's a paw! Now his head! Now's a
chance! Yah! you pink devil, that's got you! Three days you've been
coming, and now you're cheeky. Yeo, ho! That's done him." Then he flung
a second decanter, and sank down once more with a shriek.
"I'll have a drink on that!" he screamed; and I let him take a full
glass of spirits, for I wanted to secure the Derringer. The drink
appeared to paralyse him, and I slipped down to the landlord's room.
Pages:
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48