his eyes fixed on it and coming back to it quickly when he lurched away from it. When he got into the town the streets were thronged with late shoppers. An air of completion was on everything. The people were streaming home to Christmas. He plunged down from the Square into the narrow avenue, going in among the staring passersby. He kept his eye hotly on the line before him. He did not know where to go. He did not know what to buy.
As he reached the entrance to Wood’s pharmacy, a shout of laughter went up from the lounging beaux. The next instant he was staring into the friendly grinning faces of Julius Arthur and Van Yeats.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” said Julius Arthur.
He tried to explain; a thick jargon broke from his lips.
“He’s cock-eyed drunk,” said Van Yeats.
“You look out for him, Van,” said Julius. “Get him in a doorway, so none of his folks will see him. I’ll get the car.”
Van Yeats propped him carefully against the wall; Julius Arthur ran swiftly into Church Street, and drew up in a moment at the curb. Eugene had a vast inclination to slump carelessly upon the nearest support. He placed his arms around their shoulders and collapsed. They wedged him between them on the front seat; somewhere bells were ringing.
“Ding-dong!” he said, very cheerfully. “Cris-muss!”
They answered with a wild yell of laughter.
The house was still empty when they came to it. They got him out of the car, and staggered up the steps with him. He was sorry enough that their fellowship was broken.
“Where’s your room,’Gene?” said Julius Arthur, panting, as they entered the hall.
“This one’s as good as any,” said Van Yeats.
The door of the front bed-room, opposite the parlor, was open. They took him in and put him on the bed.
“Let’s take off his shoes,” said Julius Arthur. They unlaced them and pulled them off.
“Is there anything else you want, son?” said Julius.
He tried to tell them to undress him, put him below the covers, and
