"He's telling dirty jokes again," I sniffed.
"Sometimes," sighed Listless, "I wish I had studied the more cultural subjects. It helps."
"Helps what?" I demanded. "Anybody can do Drake. And anyway, you never met anyone who could appreciate them."
He started to grin in a nasty way.
"Present company excepted," I yiped. "You know what I mean. Don't try to get high-handed with me, you swizzle. I'm over your head like a Heaviside Layer." Then I calmed down.
"This isn't going to make Dudley feel any too friendly toward us," mused Listless, giving the three solos at the table the once-over.
"Look at him," I said. "He doesn't feel good to anybody, ever. We should worry."
"Two beers," I ordered, ruefully counting out the exorbitant amount I had learned was necessary. Drake seemed to brighten a little at that. Going right out of our pockets into his, the bum.
We stoked our holds in a hurry, ordered a couple more and gave Outhouse the high sign.
He started toward us and the bevy of beauties followed along automatically. Reminded me of a barnyard.