g, "Musher,
musher, musher."

Norry was angry. The whole scene was revolting to him. His best friend
was a disgusting sight, apparently not much better than a gibbering
idiot. And Hugh had shamefully abused his hospitality. Norry was no
longer gentle and boyish; he was bitterly disillusioned.

"Get up," he said briefly. "Get up and go to bed."

"Tha's my musher. You said it wasn't my--my musher." Hugh looked up, his
face wet with maudlin tears.

Norry leaned over and snatched the picture from him. "Take your dirty
hands off of that," he snapped. "Get up and go to bed."

"Tha's my musher." Hugh was gently persistent.

"It's not your mother. You make me sick. Go to bed." Norry tugged at
Hugh's arm impotently; Hugh simply sat limp, a dead weight.

Norry's gray eyes narrowed. He took a glass, filled it with cold water
in the bedroom, and then deliberately dashed the water into Hugh's face.

Then he repeated the performance.

Hugh shook his head and rubbed his hands wonderingly over his face. "I'm
no good," he said almost clearly. "I'm no good."

"You certainly aren't. Come on; get up and go to bed." Again Norry
tugged at his arm, and this time Hugh, clinging clumsily to the edge of
the table by which he was sitting, staggered to his feet.

"I'm a blot," he declared mournfully; "I'm no good, Norry. I'm an--an
excreeshence, an ex-cree-shence, tha's what I am."

"Something of the sort," Norry agreed in disgust. "Here, let me take off
your coat."

"Leave my coat alone." He pulled himself away from Norry. "I'm no good.
I'm an ex-cree-shence. I'm goin' t' commit suicide; tha's what I'm goin'
t' do. Nobody'll care 'cept my musher, and she wouldn't either if she
knew me. Oh, oh, I wish I didn't use a shafety-razor. I'll tell you what
to do, Norry." He clung pleadingly to Norry's arm and begged with
passionate intensity. "You go over to Harry King's room. He's got a
re-re--a pistol. You get it for me and I'll put it right here--" he
touched his temple awkwardly--"and I'll--I'll blow my damn brains out.
I'm a blot, Norry; I'm an ex-cree-shence."

Norry shook him. "Shut up. You've got to go to bed. You're drunk."

"I'm sick. I'm an ex-cree-shence." The room was whizzing rapidly around
Hugh, and he clung hysterically to Norry. Finally he permitted himself
to be led into the bedroom and undressed, still moaning that he was an
"ex-cree-shence."

The bed pitched. He lay on his right side, clutching the covers in
terror