"What do you mean?" he said, roughly.

"It's whiskey, boy," she cried, "and you don't drink."

"Of course it's whiskey. Bring me another," he shouted at the
attendant.

"What's the matter?" Cherry insisted. "I never saw you act so. You
know you don't drink. I won't let you. It's booze--booze, I tell
you, fit for fools and brawlers. Don't drink it, Roy. Are you in
trouble?"

"I say I'm thirsty--and I will have it! How do you know what it is
to smoulder inside, and feel your veins burn dry?"

"It's something about that girl," the woman said, with quiet
conviction. "She's double-crossed you."

"Well, so she has--but what of it? I'm thirsty. She's going to
marry McNamara. I've been a fool." He ground his teeth and reached
for the drink with which the boy had returned.

"McNamara is a crook, but he's a man, and he never drank a drop in
his life." The girl said it, casually, evenly, but the other
stopped the glass half-way to his lips.

"Well, what of it? Goon. You're good at W. C. T. U. talk. Virtue
becomes you."