"Make me a whiskey sour." Anson handed a pint bottle over the counter. "Nick, the girls are different; I had a little girl in Brooklyn and she got married last week without letting me know."
"That a fact? Ha-ha-ha," responded Nick diplomatically. "Slipped it over on you."
"Absolutely," said Anson. "And I was out with her the night before."
"Ha-ha-ha," said Nick, "ha-ha-ha!"
"Do you remember the wedding, Nick, in Hot Springs where I had the waiters and the musicians singing 'God save the King'?"
"Now where was that, Mr. Hunter?" Nick concentrated doubtfully. "Seems to me that was——"
"Next time they were back for more, and I began to wonder how much I'd paid them," continued Anson.
"—seems to me that was at Mr. Trenholm's wedding."
"Don't know him," said Anson decisively. He was offended that a strange name should intrude upon his reminiscences; Nick perceived this.
"Naw—aw—" he admitted, "I ought to know that. It was one of your crowd—Brakins .... Baker——"