“Look here! That kind of talk won’t wash.”

Potter trembled and grew white.

“I thought I’d got sober. I’d no business to drink tonight. But it’s in my head yet⁠—worse’n when we started here. I’m all in a muddle; can’t recollect anything of it, hardly. Tell me, Joe⁠— honest , now, old feller⁠—did I do it? Joe, I never meant to⁠—’pon my soul and honor, I never meant to, Joe. Tell me how it was, Joe. Oh, it’s awful⁠—and him so young and promising.”

“Why, you two was scuffling, and he fetched you one with the headboard and you fell flat; and then up you come, all reeling and staggering like, and snatched the knife and jammed it into him, just as he fetched you another awful clip⁠—and here you’ve laid, as dead as a wedge till now.”