I don't know who it could be." "Oh, we all have candid friends that talk about us.
"It's true I have been drunk now and then of late.

There's much to be said for getting drunk." "Much," assented Narramore, philosophically.
Hilliard went on with his supper; his friend puffed tobacco, and idly regarded the cheque he was still holding.
"And what are you going to do ?" he asked at length.
There came no reply, and several minutes passed in silence.

Then Hilliard rose from the table, paced the floor once or twice, selected a cigar from a box that caught his eye, and, in cutting off the end, observed quietly-- "I'm going to live." "Wait a minute.

We'll have the table cleared, and a kettle on the fire." While the servant was busy, Hilliard stood with an elbow on the mantelpiece, thoughtfully smoking his cigar.

At Narramore's request, he mixed two tumblers of whisky toddy, then took a draught from his own, and returned to his former position.
"Can't you sit down ?" said Narramore.
"No, I can't." "What a fellow you are! With nerves like yours, I should have been in my grave years ago.