"You've said it--in hell!" I answered, savagely, slipping my papers to one side and sitting upon the table's edge. "And Granny, your blessed aunt, is the one who shoved me in--good and deep!" "Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw!" roared Jeff Angel, with an intonation indescribably ludicrous had I been in the humor to enjoy it. His head went back and his curving whisker shook at me like a bent forefinger. "Damn it, man!" I gritted, worn irascible by that week's awful experiences; "don't laugh and joke the night away! Tell me about Lessie--then we'll make merry till morning if you wish!" "We'll drink, till we sink, in th' middle o' th' road, But we won't go home till mawn--'n'!" Thus caroled this irrepressible Antic, and drew from some recess in his rags the bottle which I had seen before. I glared at him helplessly. Perhaps he was a trifle drunker than he was that other time, when I gave him his supper. There he sat swaying his head from side to side, peering mischievously at me with his watery blue eyes, irresponsible as an infant. Then I recognized the futility of anger, or importunity. This queer being would speak when he got ready, and not before. I made a great effort, and threw off the impetuousness which desired to know everything at once. I would humor this half civilized, half crazy person. "Let us drink, then!" I agreed, bending forward with outstretched arm. "I need a bracer, anyway." At this the Satyr sat up with distended lids and mouth ajar, holding himself to a rigid perpendicular by planting his hands on either side of him and putting his weight upon them. "Shore 'nough?" he burst out. "Shore 'nough!" I answered, with a positive nod. "Give me some of your white lightning; I've grown used to fire." He picked up the bottle haltingly, as though constrained to unbelief in spite of my words and my waiting hand, and placing his thumb over the cob stopper, began to shake the contents furiously. "What's that for?" I asked. "Shakin' th' fusic off!" he enlightened me, and it was a moment or two before I figured out what he meant. Fusil oil in whisky rises; Jeff's vigorous action was to diffuse it. His corruption of the word told me that he was totally ignorant of what he really was doing.