“’S all true,” he solemnly stated, fixing his eyes rollingly on Reed.  “Got Orange-colored cousin what break Recky’s heart if don’t take’s home.  Y’see—­y’see—­” The President of these United States in a cabinet council would have stopped to listen to him, so freighted with great facts coming was his confidential manner.  “Y’see—­wouldn’t tell ev’body—­only you,” and he laid a mighty hand on Reed’s shoulder.  “I’m so drunk.  Awful pity—­too bad,” and he sighed deeply.  “Now, Recky, ol’ man, take’s home.”

“Who’s your friend, Billy?” Rex inquired, disregarding this appeal.

Billy burst into a shout of laughter which Fairfax promptly clipped by putting his hand over the big man’s mouth.  “He’s bes’ joke yet,” Strong remarked through Rex’s fingers.  “He’s go’n’ kill himself,” and he kissed the restraining hand gallantly.

The two sober citizens turned and stared at the gentlemen.  He looked it.  He looked as if there could be no step deeper into the gloom which enveloped him, except suicide.  He nodded darkly as the two regarded him.

“Uh-huh.  Life’s failure.  Lost cuff-button.  Won’t live to be indecent.  Go’n’ kill m’self soon’s this dizhiness goesh pasht.  Billy’s drunk, but I’m subject to—­to dizhiness.”

Rex turned to his cousin with a gesture.  “You see, Carty, we can’t leave them.  I’m just as disappointed as you are, but it would be a beastly thing to do, to let them get pulled in as common drunks.  What’s your friend’s name?” he demanded again of Strong.

[Illustration:  “Who’s your friend, Billy?”]

“Got lovely name,” he averred eagerly.  “Good ol’ moth-eaten name.  Name’s Schuyler VanCourtlandt Van de Water—­ain’t it Schuylie—­ain’t that your name—­or’s that mine?  I—­I f’rget lil’ things,” he said in an explanatory manner.

But the suicide spoke up for himself.  “Tha’s my name,” he said aggressively.  “Knew it in a minute.  Tha’s my father’s name and my grandfath’s name, and my great grandfath’s name and my great-great——­”

“Stop,” said Rex tersely, and the man stopped.  “Now tell me where you live.”

Billy Strong leaned over and punched the man in the ribs.  “You lemme tell ’em.  Lives nine-thous-n sixt’-four East West Street,” he addressed Rex, and chuckled.

“Don’t be a donkey, Billy—­tell me his right address.”  Rex spoke with annoyance—­this scene was getting tiresome, and although Reed was laughing hopelessly, he was on his mind.

“Oh!  F’got!” Billy’s tipsy coyness was elephantine.  “Lives six thous’n sev’nty four North S—­South Street,” and he roared with laughter.

Rex was about to learn how to manage Billy Strong.  “Bill,” he said, “be decent.  You’re making me lots of trouble,” and Billy burst into tears and sobbed out: 

“Wouldn’ make Recky trouble for worlds—­good ol’ Recky—­half-witted ol’ goat, but bes’ fren’ ev’ had,” and the address was captured.