I said it was a fever, and got the family's compassion, and solicitude aroused; so they gave him a teaspoonful of liquid quinine and it set his vitals on fire.

He made several grimaces which gave me a better idea of the Lisbon earthquake than any I have ever got of it from paintings and descriptions.

His drunk was still portentously solid next morning, but I could have pulled him through with the family if he would only have taken another spoonful of that remedy; but no, although he was stupefied, his memory still had flickerings of life; so he smiled a divinely dull smile and said, fumblingly saluting: "Scoose me, mem Saheb, scoose me, Missy Saheb; Satan not prefer it, please." Then some instinct revealed to them that he was drunk.

They gave him prompt notice that next time this happened he must go.

He got out a maudlin and most gentle "Wair good," and saluted indefinitely.
Only one short week later he fell again.