"I got suspicions," he informed us. "I got to go chase 'em up. I'll be back in a little while."
Listless and I debated whether to order more. It was almost cheaper to drink hard liquor but we decided that discretion was the better part of hangover and stuck to beer.
We hung around for about an hour and finally the door was shadowed by Murphy's tremendous form. If an elephant can slide, Murphy slid onto a stool. He ordered a couple and turned to us.
"Well, boys, what do you think of the doings of Dirty Dudley?"
Listless and I looked at each other.
"Dudley D. Drake, young tycoon; embezzled from his father, sold short on his brother and now controls the beer situation."
"Oh," we said among other unprintables, "that is a fine, tender, sore spot with us, Outhouse. How come?"
"I'm not sure but from what I heard down at the alumni house it has something to do with the malting process. I think he's got a law passed or something like that. He had enough influence and he's nasty enough. In college we used to call him the 'Doctor of the Doublecross.'"
"You mean you know the punk?" I asked.
"Yeah. He tried to get my place on the wrestling team once. He dropped a table on me from the second floor." A dreamy smile played over the lips of an amused Outhouse.