drunk," he said in a tone of profound humility, and added, "lots of times."
"Tt. Tt.," said Coote.
"Dozens of times," said Kipps, smiling sadly, and added, "lately."
His imagination became active and seductive. "One thing leads to another. Cards, p'raps. Girls"
"I know," said Coote; "I know."
Kipps regarded the fire and flushed slightly. He borrowed a sentence that Chitterlow had recently used. "One can't tell tales out of school," he said.
"I can imagine it," said Coote.
Kipps looked with a confidential expression into Coote's face. "It was bad enough when money was limited," he remarked. "But now" He spoke with raised eyebrows, "I got to steady down."
"You must," said Coote, protruding his lips into a sort of whistling concern for a moment.
"I must," said Kipps, nodding his head slowly with raised eyebrows. He looked at his cigarette end and threw it into the fender. He was beginning to think he was holding his own in this conversation rather well, after all.
Kipps was never a good liar. He was the first to break silence. "I don't mean to say I been reely bad or reely bad drunk. A 'eadache perhaps—three or four times, say. But there it is!"
"I have never tasted alcohol in my life," said Coote, with an immense frankness, "never!"
"No?"
