"Wotto, Bucko!" exclaimed the genial 'Erb. "We a-goin' to ketch this pore bloke's complaint? Luvvus! Wish I got enuff to git as ill as wot 'e is."
"Sit down t'other side of him, 'Erb," responded the American. "We may hev' to help the gay-cat to bed. He's got a jag. Tight as a tick—an' lef me in the lurch with two-francs' worth to drink up."
"Bless 'is 'eart," exclaimed 'Erb. "I dunno wevver 'e's a-drinkin' to drahn sorrer or wevver he's a-drinkin' to keep up 'is 'igh sperrits—but he shan't say as 'ow 'Erb 'Iggins didn't stand by 'im to the larst—the larst boll' I mean," and 'Erb filled the large glass which the American reached from the bar.
"’Ere's 'ow, Cocky," he shouted in the ear of the apparently drunken man, giving him a sharp nudge in the ribs with his elbow.
The drunken man gasped at the blow, gave a realistic hiccough and murmured: "A votre santé, Monsieur."
"Carn't the pore feller swaller a little more, Buck?" enquired 'Erb with great concern. "Fency two francs—an' he's 'ad ter giv' up! … Never mind, Ole Cock," he roared again in the ear of the drunkard, "p'raps you'll be able ter go ahtside in a minnit an' git it orf yer chest. Then yer kin start afresh. See? … 'Ope hon, 'ope hever.… 'Sides," he added, as a cheering afterthought, "It'll tiste as good a-comin' up as wot it did a-goin' dahn." He then blew vinously into his mouth-organ and settled down for a really happy evening.
A knot of Legionaries, friends of Rivoli, stood at the bar talking with Madame.
"Here he comes," said one of them, leaning with his back against the bar. "Ask him."
