She nodded her head resignedly.

"His eyes was pretty shiny," she confessed; "and he didn't have no
collar, though he went away with one. But mebbe he didn't have more'n a
couple of glasses."

"He couldn't stand up straight," asserted her husband. "I watched him.
He couldn't walk across the floor without stumblin'. You heard 'm
yourself almost fall down in the hall."

"I think it was over Alice's cart," she said. "He couldn't see it in the
dark."

Mr. Higginbotham's voice and wrath began to rise. All day he effaced
himself in the store, reserving for the evening, with his family, the
privilege of being himself.

"I tell you that precious brother of yours was drunk."

His voice was cold, sharp, and final, his lips stamping the enunciation
of each word like the die of a machine. His wife sighed and remained
silent. She was a large, stout woman, always dressed slatternly and
always tired from the burdens of her flesh, her work, and her husband.

"He's got it in him, I tell you, from his father," Mr. Higginbotham went
on accusingly. "An' he'll croak in the gutter the same way. You know
that."

She nodded, sighed, and went on stitching. They were agreed that Martin