"Campsite," he grunted.
"Alabama," Morley murmured.
Madsen goggled. "Are you delirious? What do you mean—Alabama?"
Morley laughed sheepishly. "Alabama means 'Here we rest,' I said it without thinking."
Madsen was grinning now. "What beats me is how you remember all that junk. I'd go nuts if I tried to clutter up my mind with a bunch of useless data. Alabama!"
"I don't have to try to remember things," Morley said thoughtfully. "If I read or hear something that seems the least bit curious or unusual, it just sticks. And sometimes it's useful."
"Such as?"
"Well, remember when Storybook ran a mile last year in 1.29? He was the first to break 1.30. Some joe that knew a lot about horses gave me an argument in a bar about the first horse to break 1.40. He bet me ten credits it was Man o' War. I knew it was Ten Broeck, and I got an almanac and proved it."
Madsen looked up from the tin of coffee concentrate he was opening. "Hasn't anyone ever tried to win an argument by poking you one in the snoot?"
"Once or twice." Morley was almost apologetic. "But I learned judo a few years ago, just for the hell of it, so I didn't get hurt much."