his intoxication came upon him in a moment.
The skin around his eyes was purple and swollen, the pupils themselves
were contracted; they grew darker, taking on the colour of bitumen.
Suddenly he swept glasses, plates, castor, knives, forks, and all from
off the table with a single movement of his arm. Then the alcohol
overcame him all in an instant like a poisonous gas. He swayed forward
in his chair and fell across the stripped table, his head rolling
inertly between his outstretched arms. He did not move again.

In a neighbouring room young Haight had been dining with some college
fellows, fraternity men, all friends of his, upon whose coach he had
ridden to and from the game. He had heard Vandover and Ellis in the room
across the hall and had recognized their voices. Haight had never been a
friend of Ellis, but no one, not even Turner, had grieved more over
Vandover's ruin than had his old-time college chum.

Young Haight heard the noise of the falling crockery as Ellis swept the
table clear, and turned his head sharply, listening. There was a
moment's silence after this, and Haight, fearing some accident had
happened, stepped out into the hall and stood there a moment listening
again; his head inclined toward the closed door. He heard no groaning,
no exclamations of pain, not even any noise of conversation; only
through the closed door came a steady sound of barking.

Puzzled, he tried the door and, finding it locked, as he had expected,
put one foot upon the knob and, catching hold of the top jamb, raised
himself up and looked down through the open space that answered for a
transom.

The room was very warm, the air thick with the smell of cooked food, the
fumes of whisky, and the acrid odour of cigar smoke. Ellis had rolled
from his chair and lay upon the floor sprawling on his face in the wreck
of the table. Near to him, likewise upon the floor, but sitting up, his
back against the wall, was the Dummy. He was muttering incessantly to
himself, as if delighted at having found his tongue, his head swaying
on his shoulders, and a strange murmur, soft, birdlike, meaningless,
like sounds heard from a vast distance, coming from his wide-open mouth.

Vandover was sitting bolt upright in his chair, his hands gripping the
table, his eyes staring straight before him. He was barking incessantly.
It was evident that now he could not stop himself; it was like
hysterical laughter, a thing beyond his control. Twice young Haig