“I had another cat-nap, and waswoke by hearing Ben roaring with laughter. I asked him what he was laughing at, and all he could do was to keep on laughing and point at his legs, him sitting up and the bedclothes on the floor. Iwasn’t liking the way he was going on. I pushed him down and covered him up and left him, the time being just before half-past six, and one hour and a half offmed’cine time.

“He stopped laughing as I was making a brew of tea, pouring as much water on the floor as in the pot. I wasthinkin ’ then that if Ben didn’t come out from them funny sort of hoo-jahs pretty quick, I’d break our rule and give him a stiffener to keep him going. It seemed that I needn’t have worried, because when I went to him with the tea and the bottle, he was asleep and snoring. So I came back here and had a cup of tea and resisted the gin, deciding I’d wait for Ben to join me in the eight o’clock dose.

“Come eight o’clock, I went in to see how he was faring. He must have sat up again, for the clothes were half off him. He wasn’t asleep then. He was dead. So I staggered up-river to tell Knocker to go for the quack.”

“And the quack roared hell outer me, like,” snarled Knocker. “Told me that Ben and his boozing mate oughtadied a century back. And I oughta be ashamed of myself for associating with ’em. I told him to take arunnin ’ jump athisself, and I went to the policeman, and he said he’d a good mind to lock us all up, includin ’ dead Ben.”

Mr. Luton took over once again.

“They got here in the doctor’s car about ten that morning. By then I’d done some tidying up, throwing the empties into the river, planting the full ones out of sight. I told the tale that Ben had brought the supply with him, and we’d run dry and was sobering up. We had a confab on the veranda after the quack had seen Ben and said he’d died of the booze. I told them about the right kind of hoo-jahs Ben had, and how he couldn’t have died of ’em. They told me not to be a damned old fool, and that I ought to be put away for my own good.”