hand, a soda siphon in the other, and a small glass balanced
on his thumb. When Burns, at the sound of a clock ticking
somewhere, rubbed his eyes with his fists striking in and
reluctantly opened them, Macauley spoke briskly:

"See here - I'm going to give you a bracer. I know your
confounded notions, but they don't cut any figure when you
need something to pull you together the way you do to-night."

He started to measure out the amber liquid into the glass, but
Burns put up a hand.

"Much obliged, but I don't want any."

"You idiot - don't you know when to make an exception to your
rule? I admit you've won out over the other fellows just by
keeping a steady hand, but you're dead as a dog for rest
to-night and you need a stiff one, if I'm any judge."

"You're not - for me." Burns sat up. O Heavens, man, if I
were going to break my rule at all it wouldn't be for a drink
of anything. It would be for a stab in the arm with something
that beats your stuff all out for stimulating the fatigue out
of a fellow and making him feel like working till he drops."

"Why don't you have it then?" asked Macauley curiously. "I
should think if ever a used-up chap were justified in - "

"Don't give me that talk if you're my friend. It's hard
enough to hold out without resorting to that game. I don't