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Griffith went over to the swaying figure, and stared close into the pallid face and glittering, bloodshot eyes. "You damned fool!" he jerked out. "Whash whash 'at? Whash you shay, Grishsh?" "You damned idiot!" "Thash all ri'. Goo' frensh, Grishsh, youm me. Lesh hash a dro-drop." "Come on in," said the engineer. "I'll give you several drops." He shot a glance at the Englishman.
"Lend a hand, will you?" Lord James stepped quickly to the other side of Blake, who clasped each about the neck in a maudlin but vice-like embrace. As they moved toward the bedroom, Griffith exclaimed with strategic enthusiasm: "That's it, boys, come right on in. It's so confounded dusty here, let's have a bath." "All ri', Grishsh, en'ching you shay.
The visitor's curly yellow hair was bare and his handsome face scarlet with embarrassment. "I er I beg your pardon, Mr. Griffith. I " he stammered. A big hand swung up on his shoulder, and a deep voice, thick and jocular, cut short his apology. "Thash all ri', Cheems. Wash ri' in. Ish on'y ol' Grishsh. Wash ri' in, I shay."
Good friend you are, to let him touch a drop!" "This is no time for misunderstandings between his friends, Mr. Griffith," said Lord James, with a quiet insistence that checked the other's anger. "He was hard at it when, I found him had been for hours." "Ri' she are, Chi-Chimmy boy! Ching o' it, Grishsh! thish ish a relish relishush lushingsh church shaloo loon."
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