The latter, grave and attentive,
sat near one of the open doors and followed the service without a
glance about him. It was an hour of gentle solemnity, which affected
even the lightest heart.
Allyne had wakened wretched, with a headache, only to be told by his
friend of the grave misdemeanors of last night.
"And," added Donelson, "the captain came to ask me about it later, but
you were asleep, so we let you alone."
"Heavens! Did I make such a beast of myself, Jack? You certainly
exaggerate."
"Not a particle. Believe me, it's serious. The little girls were
white as paper, and Carnegie looked like the marble gladiator. I tell
you, you're in a pickle."
Allyne groaned and turned over in his bunk.
"Why didn't you stop me in time?" he questioned fiercely, with an oath.
"Oh, you needn't swear at me, Tom Allyne! I'm not your keeper. When
you know what champagne does for you, why don't you stop yourself in
time?"
"Why don't I? Because then I don't know enough to stop, idiot! The
first glass goes to my head, I tell you."
"Then you'd better not touch the first glass," returned Donelson
airily, as he vigorously plied his military brushes to his sleek brown
poll. "It's a misfortune to be so weak in the upper story, Tom."
"Humph! I'd rather be weak in liquor than when sober," was muttered
from the bunk.
Donelson turned quickly.
"See here, young man, if you want to quarrel with your best friend, all
right! I've stood by you so far, and dragged you out of the deepest
danger, but if you get too abusive--good-by! You may shift for
yourself.
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