contradicted the statement, or were himself not 'worth while.'

'There's beer there already,' said the tenor, seeing a bottle and
glass on a deal table, and making for them at once.

He undid the patent fastening, stood upright with his sturdy
stockinged legs wide apart, threw his head back, opened his huge
painted mouth to the necessary extent, but not to the full, and
without touching his lips poured the beer into the chasm in a gurgling
stream, which he swallowed without the least apparent difficulty. When
he had taken down half the contents of the small bottle he desisted
and poured the rest into the glass, apparently for Cordova's benefit.

'I hope I have left you enough,' he said, as he prepared to go. 'My
throat felt like a rusty gun-barrel.'

'Fright is very bad for the voice,' Schreiermeyer remarked, as the
call-boy handed him another bottle of beer through the open door.

Stromboli took no notice of the direct imputation. He had taken a very
small and fine handkerchief from his sporran and was carefully tucking
it into his collar with some idea of protecting his throat. When this
was done his admiration for his colleague broke out again without the
slightest warning.

'You were superb, magnificent, surpassing!' he cried.

He seized Cordova's chalked hands, pressed them to his own whitened
chin, by sheer force of stage habit, because the red on his lips would
have come off on them, and turned away.