“Stop that!” said Perley sharply. “Certainly,” said Lucius. “I’ll whistle instead.” “If you do,” the troubled young man warned him, apparently in good faith, “I’ll kill you!” “What can I do to entertain you, Joe?” “You might clear out,” his friend suggested darkly. “God knows I haven’t asked for your society!” “No,” said Lucius. “Our fairest gifts do oft arrive without petition. What an unusual thought! Have you noticed——” But the other burst out suddenly in a tragic fury: “Shut up! What’s the matter with you? Can’t you see I want to be alone?” Mr. Allen remained placid. “What difference do I make?” he asked. “I thought you said you were ‘drinking’? If you’re really in earnest about it you don’t care who’s here or anywhere else.” “Don’t you see I’m in _misery_?” cried Perley. “The ayes have it.” “Well, then, why in Heaven’s name can’t you——” “I’ll tell you,” said Lucius. “I’m in misery, too. Terrible!” “Well, what the devil do _I_ care for that?” “Haven’t I got a right to sit here?” Lucius inquired mildly. “Haven’t I got a right to sit here and drink, and cuss inside my innards, and take on the way you’re doing? Mary Ricketts just told me that she wouldn’t go to the band concert with me.” “Oh, do dry up!” “Well, you’re responsible for Mary’s treatment of me, aren’t you?” said Lucius. “I thought probably there’d be trouble when I saw you headed this way this afternoon.” “You do beat any ordinary lunatic!” the distressed young man protested. “I ‘headed this way’ this afternoon because I got one of my spells. You know well enough how it is with me, and how it was with my father before me—every so often the spell come on me, and I’ve _got_ to drink. What in the Lord’s name has that to do with Mary Ricketts? I don’t suppose I’ve even seen her for a month. Never did see anything of her, to speak of, in my life.” Mr. Allen replenished his glass from the pitcher of buttermilk before replying, and appeared to muse sorrowfully. “Well, maybe I was mistaken,” he said. “But I——” He broke off a line of thought; then sighed and inquired: “When this ‘spell’ comes on you, Joe, you feel that you’ve ‘_got_’ to go on until——” “You know I do! I don’t want to talk about it.” “But suppose,” said Lucius, “suppose something took your mind off of it.” “Nothing could. Nothing on earth!” “But just suppose something did turn up—right in the start of a spell, say—something you found you’d rather do. You know, Joe, I believe if it did and you found something else was _really_ pleasanter, it might be you’d never start in again. You’d understand it wasn’t the fun you think it is, maybe.” “Fun!” Joe cried. “I don’t _want_ to drink!” And at that his stocky companion burst into outright laughter. “I know you think so, Joe,” he said apologetically, when his hilarity was sufficiently diminished. “Of course you believe it. I’m not denying that.”