I mean to say, I was entirely quiet, I was coming along as
quickly as they would let me, I had not sung, and did not wish to
shoot, yet they persisted in making this loud ado over my supposed
intoxication, aimlessly as I thought, until the door of the Floud
drawing-room opened and Mrs. Effie appeared in the hallway. At this
they redoubled their absurd violence with me, and by dint of tripping
me they actually made it appear that I was scarce able to walk, nor do
I imagine that the costume I wore was any testimonial to my sobriety.
"Now we got him safe," panted Cousin Egbert, pushing open the door of
my room.
"Get his gun, first!" warned the Tuttle person, and this being taken
from me, I was unceremoniously shoved inside.
"What does all this mean?" demanded Mrs. Effie, coming rapidly down
the hall. "Where have you been till this time of night? I bet it's
your fault, Jeff Tuttle--you've been getting him going."
They were both voluble with denials of this, and though I could scarce
believe my ears, they proceeded to tell a story that laid the blame
entirely on me.
"No, ma'am, Mis' Effie," began the Tuttle person. "It ain't that way
at all. You wrong me if ever a man was wronged."
"You just seen what state he was in, didn't you?" asked Cousin Egbert
in tones of deep injury.
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