"Wouldn't drink it myself if I wasn't, would I? Hustle up—I'm ready for a drink right now."
Tempted beyond his strength, the faithless keeper of the Hambleton lockup departed on winged feet. He was back in remarkably quick time, a checkerboard under his coat and two bar glasses in his pockets. A last feeble flicker of responsibility stayed his hand an instant as he opened the cell door.
"No tricks, Charlie!"
"'Course not. Cross my heart and hope to die."
With the doors locked and no windows through which they could be seen, they sat themselves confidently at a small table, a glass at each side, the checkerboard between them and the precious bottle on the floor within easy reach. The proceedings opened with one apiece.
"A-a-a-ah!"
"Told you it was good, didn't I? Have another."
"Thanks. This is like old times. Black moves first."
"Teach your grandmother. Chin-chin."
"If that's bootleg, it's good enough for me."