"Gimme it, Geoff, gimme it!" he panted, "you won't keep it, no, no--Bud
slipped it to me after I come to. Gimme it, Geoff. I want t' forget--so
be a sport an' give it me--you will, won't ye?"
Ravenslee shook his head, whereat the boy broke out more passionately:
"Oh--don't ye see, Geoff--can't ye understand? I--I was knocked out
t'night--I took th' count! I--I'm done for, I had me chance, an' I
didn't make good! I--didn't--make good!" As he spoke, the lad hid his
bruised face within his hands, while great sobs shook him.
"Why, Spike! Why, Arthur, old chap--never mind--"
"Gimme th' bottle, Geoff! Be a pal an' gimme th' stuff--I want t'
forget!"
"This wouldn't help you."
"Give it me, d' ye hear--I want it--I'll have it, anyway--I'll--"
Spike's voice failed, and cowering back, he sank into a chair at sight
of her who stood within the doorway so very silent and pale of lip.
"Ah, don't, Hermy--don't look at me like that," he whispered. "Your eyes
hurt me! I ain't drunk--this time!"
"Oh, boy!" she sighed, "oh, boy--after all your promises!"
Spike rose with hands stretched out appealingly, but even so, he swayed
slightly, and seeing this, she shivered.
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