"Oh, let him rave, Sis," rejoined George, and he turned to the punchers. "Friends, I beg thee to take charge of this itinerant asylum and its charming nurse, for the good of our being and the salvation of our souls. Amen."
Tom found a weak grin. "Yes, so be it. We place ourselves and guide under your orders, though I reserve the right to beat him to a pleasing pulp when he gets sober enough to feel it. At present he reclines ungracefully within."
"You mean you got a drunk guide, in there?" demanded Bill angrily.
"He feels the yearning right away," observed George. "We 'll have to take turns thrashing Bacchus, I fear."
"How long 's he been that way?" demanded Bill.
"I have n't known him long enough to answer that," responded Tom. "I doubt if he were ever really sober. He is a peripatetic distillery and I believe he lived on blotters even as a child. The first day—"
"—hour," inserted George.
