" Which had the merit of truth, and, he thought, the
demerit of rashness.
To his surprise he found that Tim was looking at him with undisguised
admiration. "Lummy," he said, "you've got guts. Yes, that's right.
'Disreputable drunken loafer.' And if I came back now?" he asked.
"You were magnificent in the war, Martlow."
"First thing I did when I got civvies on was to get blind and skinned.
Drink and civvies go together in my mind."
"You'll get over that," said Sir William encouragingly; but he was
puzzled by the curiously wistful note which had replaced Tim's
hectoring.
"There's a chance," admitted Tim. "A bare chance. Not a chance I'd
gamble on. Not when I've a bigger chance than that. You wouldn't say,
weighing me up now, that I've got a reformed look, would you?"
Sir William couldn't. "But you'll pull yourself together. You'll
remember--"
"I'll remember the taste of beer," said Tim with fierce conviction.
"No, I never had a chance before, but I've got one now, and, by heaven,
I'm taking it." Sir William's apprehension grew acute; if money was not
the question, what outrageous demand was about to be made of him? Tim
went on, "I'm nothing but a dirty, drunken tramp to-day.
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