Be that as it may, he was equal to the task he had set himself.

He saw with satisfaction the flush mount to Murrell's swarthy cheeks, and felt that the limit of his capacity was being reached.
Mr.Slosson had become a sort of Greek chorus.

He anticipated all the possible phases of drunkenness that awaited his companions.

He went from silence to noisy mirth, when his unmeaning laughter rang through the house; he told long witless stories as he leaned against the bar; he became melancholy and described the loss of his wife five years before.
From melancholy he passed to sullenness and seemed ready to fasten a quarrel on Yancy, but the latter deftly evaded any such issue.
"What you-all want is another drink," he said affably.

"With all you been through you need a tonic, so shove along that extract of cornshucks and molasses!" "I'm a rip-staver," said Slosson thickly.