"He acts as if he was crazy," was Phil's comment.
"I—I know what it is," returned Poole. "It's" He hesitated.
"Has he been drinking?" demanded Dave. "Come, tell the truth, Nat?"
"Yes. He had a bottle of stuff with him, and he had one drink before we started and two more while we were waiting for you to come back. He isn't himself at all—so you mustn't mind what he says."
"He's a fool!" came bluntly from Ben.
"I made a mistake to go out with him. He's always that way when he's got anything to drink."
Dave's face was a study. When Merwell had called him "a poorhouse rat" he had gone white and his teeth had closed with a snap, but now, when he heard how the misguided youth was the victim of his own appetite, the lines softened into pity and nothing else.
"It's too bad," he said. "Why can't fellows leave drink alone?" And then he thought of poor Gus and how he had been tempted.
"We ought to take the stuff away from him," said Roger.
"It's too late for that—the bottle is empty, and Merwell threw it overboard," answered Poole.
"I don't think it safe to leave him out on the river alone," said Dave.
