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with laughter while his long arms flapped helplessly at his sides.
“Scuse!” he gasped. “Don’t mean to—A-r-rt! Yes! Yes! That’s it!” he screamed, and he beat his knuckles in a crazy tattoo upon the polished floor. He slid gently off the chair, slowly unbuttoning his vest, and with a languid hand loosening his necktie. A faint gurgle came from his weary throat, his head lolled around on the floor languidly, tears coursed down his swollen features.
“What’s wrong with you? Are you c-c-c-crazy?” said the sailor, all a-grin.
Horse Hines bent sympathetically and assisted the boy to his feet.
“It’s the strain,” he said knowingly to the sailor. “The pore fellow has become hysterical.”
