He looked the first, and from his antic disposition I was convinced he
was already more than half drunk. But I was entirely unprepared for the
result which my statement brought about.
The angular figure became convulsed with immoderate laughter on the
instant. He shouted and screamed with mirth, bending forward, thrusting
backward, holding his ribs with one hand--the other was busy with the
oilcloth bundle, which he never forgot--turning that repellent chin to
the sky, and yelling his insane, cackling, demoniac merriment to the
first stars. I thought he would surely have some sort of fit before my
eyes, so overcome was he with glee. I stood erect and dignified, waiting
for his stormy risibles to allay. After a full two minutes of noisy
rapture, he calmed down somewhat, drew forth a bottle of remarkable size
and tilted it with the neck between his lips. Making a smacking sound of
satisfaction as he finished the draught, he half lurched, half walked
toward me, extending the bottle as he came.
"Good fur rheumatiz," he said, stopping at arm's length, and
good-naturedly leering his invitation for me to partake.