The father stood aghast.
"By George!" he muttered. "ROSCOE!"
"My name," said Roscoe. "Can' help that."
"ROSCOE!" Blank astonishment was Sheridan's first sensation.
Probably nothing in the world could have more amazed his than to find
Roscoe--the steady old wheel-horse--in this condition. "How'd you
GET this way?" he demanded. "You caught cold and took too much for
it?"
For reply Roscoe laughed hoarsely. "Yeuh! Cold! I been drinkun all
time, lately. Firs' you notice it?"
"By George!" cried Sheridan. "I THOUGHT I'd smelt it on you a good
deal lately, but I wouldn't 'a' believed you'd take more'n was good
for you. Boh! To see you like a common hog!"
Roscoe chuckled and threw out his right arm in a meaningless gesture.
"Hog!" he repeated, chuckling.
"Yes, a hog!" said Sheridan, angrily. "In business hours! I don't
object to anybody's takin' a drink if you wants to, out o' business
hours; nor, if a man keeps his work right up to the scratch, I
wouldn't be the one to baste him if he got good an' drunk once in two,
three years, maybe. It ain't MY way. I let it alone, but I never
believed in forcin' my way on a grown-up son in moral matters.
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