"Take this infernal mess away!" he said, pushing a plate of nut steak
from him in disgust, "and let me have a full course--entree, soup,
fish, meat, everything you've got--chartreuse and a liqueur, and bring
it quick--I'm famished."
He ate and ate, and drank and drank, until it was as much as he could
do to rise from the table. And then, in excellent spirits, he repaired
to Cockspur Street.
How he got on to the stage he could never tell. Everything was in a
haze around him, until there was a dull crash in his ears, and he
suddenly found himself drowning. No one, at first, noticed his
helpless condition, but attributed his antics to part of the
programme; and he most certainly would have been drowned, had it not
been for Lilian Rosenberg, who, being quite by chance, in front of the
house, perceived he was drunk, the moment he came on the stage. She
flew to the wings, and, just in the nick of time, got two of the
supers to haul him out of the tank. Of course, it was announced--with
a pretty apology--by Mr. Hamar, that Mr. Curtis had been taken ill.
Kelson immediately came on with his animals, and the audience departed
without the slightest suspicion as to the truth.
Hamar was furious.
"You idiot!" he said to Curtis, "that all comes of your making a beast
of yourself--you would sacrifice Matt and me, for your insatiable
craving for meat and alcohol. Can't you see it was a trick of the
Unknown to make us break the compact? Had you been drowned, the
partnership, would, of course, have been dissolved--and it would have
been your fault! You must obey your injunctions! Damn it, you must!"
And Hamar spoke so fiercely that Curtis was for once in a way cowed,
and solemnly promised that he would not repeat the offence.
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