The stranger grabbed a glass and filled it half full of soothing syrup.

"Here, you aren't going to drink that!" I yelled at him. "Didn't you
hear Sol tell you the dose is a spoonful?"

But he didn't pay me any attention. His hand was shaking so he could
hardly connect with his own mouth, and he was panting as though he'd run
a race.

"Well, no accounting for tastes," I said. "Where do you want me to ship
your remains?"

He drank her down, shut his eyes a few minutes, and held still. He had
quit his shaking, and he looked me square in the face.

"What's it _to_ you?" he demanded. "Huh? Ain't you never seen a guy hit
the hop before?"

He stared at me so truculently that I was moved to righteous wrath; and
I answered him back. I told him what I thought of him and his clothes
and his conduct at quite some length. When I had finished he seemed to
have gained a new attitude of aggravating wise superiority.

"That's all right, kid; that's all right," he assured me; "keep your
hair on. I ain't such a bad scout; but you gotta get used to me. Give me
my hop and I'm all right. Now about this Hooper; you say you know him?"

"None better," I rejoined. "But what's that to you? That's a fair
question."