I swallowed, and fixed on him a stony stare. He was going to relent. "I's hongry onct--belly hongry--'n' yo' give me good grub. Now yo're hongry--heart hongry--'n' I'm a-goin' to fill yo' plum' up!" I essayed to cross my knees to assure myself that I was actually all right, but something went wrong with my lifted leg. It fell short, slid down my other shin, and lodged on the instep in a most unique twist. I let it remain. Bemused as I was almost to the point of helplessness, I yet knew that the Satyr had far greater control of his faculties than myself, despite the enormous quantity of poison he had consumed. I could listen acutely, however, if my speech was difficult. "Go on," I encouraged, doing the two monosyllables without a hitch. "Th' gal lied to th' pries' 'n' th' pries' tol' Granny, didn't he?" This abrupt and startling declaration almost dazed me. "Howje know?" "I's to th' P'int t'other day; jes' drapped 'roun' 'n' heerd d'rec'ly thur'd ben a tur'ble stew. Granny tol' me 'bout it, 'n' how she'd druv yo' off on 'count o' whut th' pries's niece tol' 'im. She lied, though, sho!" "Howje know?" "Granny 'lowed yo' said so, but I knowed it w'en it hap'n'd, 'cus I'm al'ays perk'n' 'roun' in onexpected places. I wander consid'ble." "Whurruz zhe?" "That vine-house ain't fur frum th' hedge, 'n' I jes' hap'n'd to be layin' 'long t'other side 'n' heerd all yo' said. So I ups 'n' 'lows to Granny 'n' Lessie that you tol' th' truth 'n' th' gal lied, 'cus I heerd ever'thin'." "Whusshe do?" "She sot thur lak a mud woman, a-wink'n' 'n' a-swaller'n', her mouth hung open lak a dead fish's--" "Whus _she_ do?--Lesshe?" "She hugged Granny, 'n' she hugged Gran'fer, 'n' she hugged me, 'n' ez she's hugg'n' me she tol' me we'd go runnin' that night, jes' on 'count o' th' good news I'd brung." "I shaw you." "Huh?" "I shaw you--called--wouldn't stop. Why didn't yo' stop?" "Never heerd yo'; we's runnin'." The Satyr's recital was not given with the lucidity of my transcription. It was halting, stammering, uncertain in places, but it imparted a glorious truth which rolled a stone from my breast. Even in the depths of my state of inebriety I was uplifted. I saw the light of day once more, who had been following paths of gloom and horror. I remember that I arose with the intention of grasping his hand to thank him, then a veil dropped before my eyes and my mind went blank. I awoke this morning with my head splitting and every joint stiff. I had spent the remaining hours of night upon the floor. My first thought was of my visitor. I sat up and looked around, but he was gone. All of this day I have been trying to get myself together. I was never drunk before--beastly drunk. I never shall be again. It is not the physical discomfort which causes me to make this declaration. That is bad enough, but I am no cringing coward, and am ready to pay the penalty for any conscious misdemeanor. It is the shame of it which makes me say it.