.

.

.
Yet a thimbleful, taken straight, only a thimbleful, wouldn't be much, and might help to pull him together.

He again reached his trembling hand for the decanter, hesitated, and then, turning his back upon it, resolutely walked to the open window.

Almost at the same instant he found himself face to face with Christie on the veranda.
She looked into his bloodshot eyes, and cast a swift glance at the decanter.
"Won't you take something before you go ?" she said sweetly.
"I--reckon--not, jest now," stammered Whiskey Dick, with a heroic effort.
"You're right," said Christie.