"Who said?"

"Why, the ones that--that said what you said they said."

"I didn't say anyone had said anything."

"Then what do you mean by--by hintin'? Hey? What do you mean by it?"

He brandished a clenched fist over the breakfast dishes. Brown leaned
back in his chair and closed his eyes.

"Call me when the patient recovers his senses," he drawled wearily.
"This delirium is painful to a sensitive nature."

Atkins's fist wavered in mid-air, opened, and was drawn across its
owner's forehead.

"Well, by jiminy!" exclaimed the lightkeeper with emphasis, "this
is--is-- . . . I guess I BE crazy. If I ain't, you are. Would you mind
tellin' me what in time you mean by THAT?"

"It is not the mosquitoes," continued his companion, in apparent
soliloquy; "there are no mosquitoes at present. It must be the other
thing, of course. But so early in the morning, and so violent. Alcohol
is--"

"SHUT UP!" It was not a request, but an order. Brown opened his eyes.

"You were addressing me?" he asked, blandly. "Yes?"