Will, if you're sick, this isn't the way to get over it."

"Brother's keeper, eh? Glad to see me back, eh, Jack?"

"Not in this shape. What do you suppose Nell would think?"

"I don't know and I don't care. I'm sick. That's all."

"Where have you been--for the last three years?"

"A whole lot you care. Been? I have been everywhere from heaven to
hell--the whole route. I'm in hell just now."

"You look it. Will, what can I do for you? You want to quit the booze
and straighten up. You're killing yourself."

"Maybe I don't know it! Say, Jack, I want some dough. I'm broke."

"All right. How much?"

"A couple of hundred--for a starter."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"What do you suppose? Not going to eat it."

"No. And you're not going to drink it, either. I'll see that you have
everything you need. You're of age and can do as you like. But you're
not going to kill yourself with whiskey."