or and disgust. Mrs. King wept and Josita
mumbled a frightened prayer, and Carter, red and vehement, went to him
and tried to take the decanter away from him. Only Honor Carmody made no
sign.

I'm a son of a son of a son of a gun of a son of a Gambolier,

sang Jimsy King. He looked at every one but Honor.

Like every honest fellow, I love my lager beer----

--"And my 'skee!" he patted the decanter.

Madeline King put her arms about Honor. "Come away, my dear," she said.
"Come upstairs."

"No," Jimsy protested. "Don' go 'way. Got somep'n tell you. Shee this
fool Injun here? Know wha' he's goin' do? Goin' slide out'n creep down
to ol' well. Says _insur_--_insur-rectos_ all pretty drunk now ...
pretty sleepy.... Fool Injun's goin' take three--four--'leven canteens
... bring water back for you. Not f' me! _I_ got somep'n better. 'Sides,
he'll get killed ... nice'n dead ... _fancy_ dead ... cut ears off ...
cut tongue out firs'! Not f' me! _I'm_ goin' sleep pret' soon. Firs'
I'll shing you lil' more!" Again the rasping travesty of melody:

Some die of drinkin' whisky,
Some die of drinkin' beer!
Some die of diabetes,
An' some----

"Shut up, you drunken fool!" said Carter, furiously.

"Oh," said Jimsy, blinking his eyes rapidly, bowing deeply. "Ladies
present. I shee. My mishtake. My mishtake, ladies! Well, guesh I go
sleep now. Come on. Yac', put me to bed 'fore you go. Give you lil'
treat. All work'n no play makes Yac' a dull boy!" He roared over his own
wit. The Indian, his face impassive, had risen to his feet and now Jimsy
cast himself into his arms and insisted on kissing him good-night,
clinging all the while to the decanter with its half inch of whisky.

Carter wrenched it away from him. "You'll kill yourself," he said, in
cold disgust.

"Well," said his friend, reasonably, "ishn't that the big idea? Wouldn'
you razzer drink yourself to death'n die of thirst?"

They were making for the door now in a zigzag course, and when they
passed Honor, Jimsy stayed their progress. He held out his hand and
spoke to her, but he did not meet her eyes. "Gimme ring," he said,
crossly.

"What do you mean?" said Honor.

"Gimme back ring ... busted word ... busted engagement ... want ring
_anyway_ ... maybe nozzer girl ... _you_ can't tell!" His hoarse voice
rose querulously. "Gimme ring, I shay!"

Honor shrank back from him against Mrs. King. "Jimsy," she said, "when
the boy