He was tired with the journey, for excess had weakened him, and now the lust for drink which he had stubbornly fought had grown overwhelming.
"I can go no faster.

Push on and I'll follow your tracks," he said in a surly tone.

"It takes time to get into condition, and I haven't walked much for several years." "Neither have I," Harding answered cheerfully.

"I'm more used to riding in elevators and streetcars, but this sort of thing soon makes you fit." "You're not troubled with my complaint," Benson grumbled; and when Blake started the pony, he deliberately dropped behind.
"He's in a black mood; we'll leave him to himself," Harding advised.
"So far he's braced up better than I expected; when a man's been tanking steadily, it's pretty drastic to put him through the total deprivation cure." "I wonder," Blake said thoughtfully, "whether it is a cure; we have both seen men who made some effort to save themselves go down.

Though I'm a long way from being a philanthropist, I hate this waste of good material.