"De Lord o' massey," he cried. "I ain't lef' him more'n a minit. He sent
me down hisself. One o' his cunnin' ways to get rid o' me when he's at de
wust. Opium 'n whiskey, dats what gets him dis way. Bof togedder a-gwine
ter kill him some dese days, 'n de opium am de wustest. For de Lord's
sake some o' you gen'men cum 'n hep me till I git him quieted down."

It was all over in a few moments, but the effort made to return to
hilariousness was a failure; the shock to the majority of the gay throng
had been great. Mrs. Marvin, sitting in her special corner, was besieged
with questions, and at length was prevailed upon through the force of
circumstances to speak the truth as she knew it.

"Has he ever done it before?" she said. "Yes, he has done it before--he
has done it a dozen times since he has been here, only to-night he was
madder than usual and got away from his servant. What is it? It is opium
when it isn't whiskey, and whiskey when it isn't opium, and oftenest it
is both together. He is the worst of a bad lot, and if you haven't
understood that miserable angry boy before you may understand him now.
His mother died of a broken heart when he was twelve years old, and he
watched her die of it and knew what killed her, and is proud enough to
feel the shame that rests upon him. That's as much as I care to say, and
yet it isn't the half."

When those bearing the Colonel to his room turned into the corridor
leading to it they encountered his son, who met them with a white-lipped
rage, startling to every man of them in its incongruous contrast to the
boyish face and figure.

"What?" he said, panting. "You've got him, have you?"

"Yes," responded the Colonel hilariously; "'ve got me safe 'nuff; pick me
up ad' car' me. If man won't go out, tote 'm out."

They carried him into his rooms and laid him down, and more than one
among them turned curiously to the boy as he stood near the bed looking
down at the dishevelled, incoherent, gibbering object upon it.

"Damn him," he said in a sudden outburst; "damn him."

"Hello, youngster," said one of the party, "that's not the thing
exactly."

"Go to the devil," roared the lad, livid with wrath and shame. "Do you
think I'll not say what I please? A nice one he is for a fellow to have
for a father--to be tied to and dragged about by--drinking himself mad
and disgracing himself after his palaver and sentiment and playing the
gentleman. He ought to be a gentleman--he's got a ge