He was not very steady on his feet, but fairly clear in his brain.
"Yes. But it's no good--can't stand it," he murmured, pressing his
hand hard upon his head and across his eyes.
His voice was little more than a gasp.
"God!--this weakness"--
We sat without speaking. In the bright light, in a glass opposite, I
caught sight of my own face. I was as pale as he from work, as he
from pleasure. My eyes were as bloodshot as his from sleeplessness,
as his from drink. My hand shook as much as his from mental
excitement, as his from physical exhaustion. He was the
representative of those who sacrifice to-morrow for to-day. I, of
those who sacrifice to-day for to-morrow. And I wondered, as I
smoked on with his collapsed figure before me, which was the greater
fool. "Do neither" is the cry. "Take the gifts of to-day without
robbing to-morrow." Estimable rule, I agree, if you are fortunate
enough to have the chance of carrying it out. But very few of us
have. A man with Howard's constitution could only purchase the hours
last night with the hours of this morning. Success would not come to
me to-morrow unless I were willing to struggle for it to-day.
"What did you drink?" I asked, after a pause.
"Maraschino, cognac, and clic," he answered, and a gesture of his
hand and first finger showed he meant in the same glass.
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