nothing else but them kind of schemes, and he
knowed it. He was seeing himself how he had been changing, like another
person could of seen it. That's the main trouble with drinking to fergit
yourself. You fergit the wrong part of yourself.

I left him purty soon, and went along to bed. My room was next to his'n,
and they was a door between, so the two could be rented together if
wanted, I suppose. I went to sleep and woke up agin with a start out of
a dream that had in it millions and millions and millions of niggers,
every way you looked, and their mouths was all open red and their eyes
walled white, fit to scare you out of your shoes.

I hearn Doctor Kirby moving around in his room. But purty soon he sets
down and begins to talk to himself. Everything else was quiet. I was
kind of worried about him, he had taken so much, and hoped he wouldn't
get a notion to go downtown that time o' night. So I thinks I will see
how he is acting, and steps over to the door between the rooms.

The key happened to be on my side, and I unlocked it. But she only opens
a little ways, fur his wash stand was near to the hinge end of the door.

I looked through. He is setting by the table, looking at a woman's
picture that is propped up on it, and talking to himself. He has never
hearn me open the door, he is so interested. But somehow, he don't look
drunk. He looks like he had fought his way up out of it, somehow--his
forehead was sweaty, and they was one intoxicated lock of hair sticking
to it; but that was the only un-sober-looking thing about him. I guess
his legs would of been unsteady if he had of tried to walk, but his
intellects was uncomfortable and sober.

He is still keeping up that same old argument with himself, or with the
picture.

"It isn't any use," I hearn him say, looking at the picture.

Then he listened like he hearn it answering him. "Yes, you always
say just that--just that," he says. "And I don't know why I keep on
listening to you."

The way he talked, and harkened fur an answer, when they was nothing
there to answer, give me the creeps.

"You don't help me," he goes on, "you don't help me at all. You only
make it harder. Yes, this thing is worse than the others. I know that.
But I want money--and fool things like this HAVE sometimes made it. No,
I won't give it up. No, there's no use making any more promises now. I
know myself now. And you ought to know me by this time, too. Why can't
you let me alone altog