You were drunk twice before and couldn't
work. You been leavin' your office for drinks every few hours for the
last three weeks. I been over your books. Your office is way behind.
You haven't done any work, to count, in a month."
"All right," said Roscoe, drooping under the torture. "It's all
true."
"What you goin' to do about it?"
Roscoe's head was sunk between his shoulders. "I can't stand very
much talk about it, father," he said, pleadingly.
"No!" Sheridan cried. "Neither can I! What do you think it means to
ME?" He dropped into the chair at his big desk, groaning. "I can't
stand to talk about it any more'n you can to listen, but I'm goin' to
find out what's the matter with you, and I'm goin' to straighten you
out!"
Roscoe shook his head helplessly.
"You can't straighten me out."
"See here!" said Sheridan. "Can you go back to your office and stay
sober to-day, while I get my work done, or will I have to hire a
couple o' huskies to follow you around and knock the whiskey out
o' your hand if they see you tryin' to take it?"
"You needn't worry about that," said Roscoe, looking up with a faint
resentment. "I'm not drinking because I've got a thirst.
Pages:
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267