Beneath its
midnight border were his bare ankles, final testimony to his
desperate condition, for only in ultimate despair does a
suffering man remove his trousers. The feet themselves were
distractedly not of the tableau, being immersed in bedroom shoes
of gay white fur shaped in a Romeo pattern; but this was the
grimmest touch of all--the merry song of mad Ophelia.
"Mr. Potter!" the playwright began, "I--"
Potter turned without a word and disappeared into the room
whence he came.
"Mr. Potter!" Canby started to follow. "Mr. Pot--"
"Sh!" whispered Tinker.
Potter appeared again upon the threshold In one hand he held a
large goblet; in the other a bottle of Bourbon whiskey, just
opened. With solemn tread he approached a delicate table, set
the goblet upon it, and lifted the bottle high above.
"I am in no condition to talk to anybody," he said hoarsely. "I
am about to take my first drink of spirits in five years."
And he tilted the bottle. The liquor clucked and guggled,
plashed into the goblet, and splashed upon the table; but when
he set the bottle down the glass was full to its capacious brim,
and looked, upon the little "Louis Sixteenth" table, like a sot
at the Trianon.
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