I'm not 'xceptin' th'----"
"Shut up, Billy," remarked Rex, not for the first time that night. "I'd
get myself pulled together a bit if I were you," he advised. "You're
going to see your family in a minute."
"M' poor fam'ly!" mourned Strong, shaking his head. "M' poor fam'ly!
Thish'll be awful blow to m' fam'ly, Recky. They all like so mush to see
me sober--always--'s their fad, Recky. Don't blame 'em, Recky, 's
natural to 'em. Some peop' born that way. M' poor fam'ly."
They stood in front of the broad driveway which swept under lofty arches
into the huge apartment house. Strong stopped and gazed upwards
mournfully. "Right up there," he murmured, pointing skywards--"M'
fam'ly." The tears were streaming down his face frankly now. "I can't
face 'em Recky, 'n this condition you've got me in," he said more in
sorrow than in anger. At that second the last inspiration of the evening
caught him. Across the street arose the mighty pile of an enormous
uptown hotel. Strong jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Go'n' break it
to m' fam'ly by telegraph' 'em," he stated, and bitterly Rex repented of
that thoughtless mention of the Strongs to their son and heir.
Good-naturedly as he had done everything, but relentlessly, he dragged
his victim over the way, and direct to the Western Union office of the
hotel--"Webster's Union" he preferred to call it. His first telegram
read:
"Rex Fairfax got me drunk.
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