In one corner Maurice
saw what appeared to be a man asleep on his arms, which were
extended the width of the table. It was the cosiest corner in
the hall, and Maurice decided to establish himself at the other
side of the table, despite the present incumbent. Noiselessly he
crossed the floor and sat down. The light was at his back,
leaving his face in the shadow, but shone squarely on the
sleeper's head.
"I do not envy his headache when he wakes up," thought Maurice.
He had detected the vinous odor of the sleeper's breath. "These
headaches, while they last, are bad things. I know; I've had 'em.
I wonder," lifting the stein and draining it, "who the duffer
was who said that getting drunk was fun? His name has slipped my
memory; no matter." He set down the stein and banged the lid.
The sleeper stirred. "Rich," he murmured; "rich, rich! I'm rich!
A hundred thousand crowns!"
"My friend, I'm not in the position to dispute with you on that
subject," said Maurice, smiling. He rapped the stein again.
The sleeper raised his head and stared stupidly,
"Rich, aye, rich!" He was still in half a dream. "Rich, I say!"
"Hang it, I'm not arguing on that," Maurice laughed.
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