"Say no more, Charlie. I'll break my rule this once if it will make you feel any better. One little drink, that's all,--in spite of the doctor. He's a long way off, and I daresay he'll never know the difference. Lead the way, old chap. Anything to cheer up a disconsolate comrade." A few minutes later they were in Webster's room, second floor back. The highly gratified host had lighted the kerosene lamp on the table in the centre of the room, and pulled down the window shades. Then, putting his fingers to his lips to enjoin silence, he tip-toed to the door and threw it open suddenly. After peering into the hall and listening intently for a moment, he cautiously closed it again. "All's well, as the watchman says at midnight," he remarked, as he drew his key ring from his hip pocket and selected a key with unerring precision from the extensive assortment. "I always do that," he added. "I don't suppose it was necessary tonight, because Angie Miller has got Hatch where he can't possibly escape. Long as she knows where he is, she don't do much snooping. She used to be the same way with me,--and Doc, too, for that matter. Poor Hatch,--setting down there in the parlour,--listening to her talk about birds and flowers and trying to help her guess what she's going to give him for next Christmas. It's hell to be a bachelor, Court." He unlocked a trunk in the corner of the room, and after lifting out two trays produced a half empty whiskey bottle. "I had a dozen of these to begin with," said he, holding the bottle up to the light. "Dollar sixty a quart. Quite a nifty little stock, eh?" "Is that all you have left?" Charlie scratched his ear reflectively. "Well, you see, I've had a good deal of toothache lately," he announced. "And as soon as Doc Simpson and Hatch found out about it, they begin to complain about their teeth achin' too. Seemed to be a sort of epidemic of toothache, Court. Nothing like whiskey for the toothache, you know." "But Simpson is a dentist. Why don't you have him treat your teeth?" "Seems as though he'd sooner have me treat his," said Charlie, with a slight grimace. Rummaging about in the top tray of the trunk, he produced a couple of bar glasses, which he carefully rinsed at the washstand. "Tastes better when you drink it out of a regular glass," he explained. "Always seems sort of cowardly to me to take it with water,--almost as if you were trying to drown it so's it won't be able to bite back when you tackle it. Needn't mind sayin' 'when' The glass holds just so much, and I know enough to stop when it begins to run over. Well! Here's hoping your toothache will be better in the morning, Court." "I don't think I ought to rob you like this, Charlie,--"