Suddenly his eyes looked queer, and he stammered, and rolled off his chair, and lay in a heap, either dead drunk or in a fit, I don't know which.' 'And I suppose you carried him downstairs,' said Logotheti, for Griggs was known to be stronger than other men, though no longer young.
'I did,' Griggs answered.

'That's usually my share of the proceedings.
The last person I carried--let me see--I think it must have been that poor girl who died at the Opera in New York.

We had found Feist's address in the visitors' book, and we sent him home in a hansom.

I wonder whether he got there!' 'I should think the member who put him down would be rather annoyed,' observed Logotheti.
'Yes.

It's the first time anything of that sort ever happened at the Mutton Chop, and I fancy it will be the last.