"Say, how about dinner?"
"It isn't ready yet," Gilbert informed him. Lucia took advantage of her husband's question to move over toward the door.
"Why, good God, man, it's nearly three o'clock! We're not on a hunger strike, are we?" And he laughed at his own dull witticism.
"I'll see about it now," Jones promised.
"Haven't got a drink, have you, while we're waiting? Not that I need an appetizer! And it's damned hot, I know, to guzzle whiskey."
"There's nothing good in the place. But I think the cook has some tequila."
"Tequila? What's that, Jones?"
"It's a Mexican drink."
"Has it got a kick in it?" the other wanted to know.